^s 


-aAv 


L. 


THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET 


A   LOVE  STORY 


"^ 


-(< 


BY 


S.    R.    CROCKETT 

AUTHOR    OF    THE    STICKIT    MINISTER,    THE    RAIDERS,    ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

189s 


Copyright,  1894, 
By  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


Electuottped  and  Printed 

AT  THE  ApPLETON   PreSS,    U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS. 


Prologue. — By  the  wayside 
I. — The  blanket-washing  . 
II. — The  mother  of  King  Lemuel 

III. — A    TREASURE-TROVE  .... 

IV. — A  CAVALIER  Puritan 

V. — A   LESSON   IN   BOTANY 

VI. — Curled  eyelashes. 
VII. — Concerning  taking  exercise 
VIII. — The  minister's  man  arms  for  conquest 
IX. — The  advent  of  the  Cuif 
X. — The  love-song  of  the  mavis 
XI. — Andrew  Kissock  goes  to  school 
XII. — Midsummer  dawn    .... 
XIII. — A  string  of  the  lilac  sunbonnet 
XIV. — Captain  Agnew  Greatorix  , 
XV. — On  the  edge  of  the  orchard 
XVI. — The  Cuip  before  the  session 
XVII. — When  the  kye  comes  hame  . 
XVIII. — A  daughter  of  the  Picts    . 
XIX. — At  the  barn  end  .... 
XX. — "  Dark-isrowed  Egypt" 
XXI. — The  return  of  Ebie  Farrish 
XXII. — A  scarlet  poppy    .... 
XXIII. — Concerning  John  Bairdieson 
XXIV. — Legitimate  sport  .... 
XXV. — Barriers  breaking 
XXVI. — Such  sweet  peril  .... 
XXVII. — The  opinions  of  Saunders  Mowdiewort  upon  besom 

SHANKS         

XXVIII. — That  gipsy  Jess     .... 


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167 
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iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIX. — The  dark  of  the  moon  at  the  Grannoch  bridge  184 

XXX.— The  Hill  gate 191 

XXXI. — The  study  of  the  manse  of  Dullarg     .        .        .  201 
XXXIL— Outcast  and  alien  from  the  commonwealth         .  207 

XXXIII. — Jock  Gordon  takes  a  hand 311 

XXXIV. — The  dew  of  their  youth 217 

XXXV. — Such  sweet  sorrow 230 

XXXVL— Over  the  hills  and  far  awa' 240 

XXXVII. —  LENDER  the  red  heather 247 

XXXVIII. — Before  the  reformer's  chair 253 

XXXIX. — Jemima,  Kezia,  and  little  Keren-happuch     .        .  259 

XL. — A   TRIANGULAR    CONVERSATION 265 

XLI. — The  meeting  of  the  synod 209 

XLII. — Purging  and  restoration 275 

XLIII. — Threads  drawn  together 280 

XLIV. — Winsome's  last  tryst 284 

XLV. — The  last  of  the  lilac  sunbonnet  ....  290 


THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 


|)rolo9uc.— Cn  tl)c  tOajisibc. 

As  Ealpli  Pedeu  came  along  the  dusty  Cairn  Edward 
road  from  the  coach  which  had  set  him  down  tliere  on  its 
way  to  the  Ferry  town,  he  paused  to  rest  in  the  evening 
light  at  the  head  of  the  Long  Wood  of  Larbrax.  Here,  un- 
der boughs  that  arched  the  way,  he  took  from  his  shoulders 
his  knapsack,  filled  with  Hebrew  and  Greek  books,  and 
rested  his  head  on  the  larger  bag  of  roughly  tanned  West- 
land  leather,  in  which  were  all  his  other  belongings.  They 
were  not  numerous.  He  might,  indeed,  have  left  both  his 
bags  for  the  Dullarg  carrier  on  Saturday,  but  to  lack  his 
beloved  books  for  four  days  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  a 
moment  by  Ealph  Peden.  He  would  rather  have  carried 
them  up  the  eight  long  miles  to  the  manse  of  the  Dullarg 
one  by  one. 

As  he  sat  by  the  tipsy  milestone,  which  had  swayed  side- 
long and  lay  half  buried  amid  the  grass  and  dock  leaves,  a 
tall,  dark  girl  came  by — half  turning  to  look  at  the  young 
man  as  he  rested.  It  was  Jess  Kissock,  from  the  Herd's 
House  at  Craig  Ronald,  on  her  way  home  from  buying  trim- 
mings for  a  new  hat.  This  happened  just  twice  a  year,  and 
was  a  solemn  occasion. 

"  Is  this  the  way  to  the  manse  of  Dullarg  ?  "  asked  the 
young  man,  standing  up  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  the  brim 
just  beneath  his  chin.  He  was  a  handsome  young  man 
when  he  stood  up  straight. 


2  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

Jess  looked  at  him.  attentively.  They  did  Bot  speak  in 
that  way  iu  her  country,  nor  did  they  take  their  hats  in 
their  hands  when  they  had  occasion  to  speak  to  young 
Avonien. 

"  I  am  myself  going  past  the  Dullarg,"  she  said,  and 
paused  with  a  hiatus  like  an  invitation. 

Ralph  Peden  was  a  simj^le  young  man,  but  he  rose  and 
shouldered  his  knapsack  without  a  word.  The  slim,  dark- 
haired  girl  with  the  bright,  quick  eyes  like  a  bird,  put  out 
her  hand  to  take  a  share  of  the  burden  of  Ralph's  bag. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  am  quite  able  to  manage  it  myself," 
he  said,  "  I  could  not  think  of  letting  you  put  your  hand 
to  it." 

"  I  am  not  a  fine  lady,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  little  impa- 
tient movement  of  her  brows,  as  if  she  had  stamped  her 
foot.     "  I  am  nothing  but  a  cottar's  lassie." 

"But  then,  how  comes  it  that  you  speak  as  you  do?" 
asked  Ralph. 

"  I  have  been  long  in  England — as  a  lady's  maid,"  she 
answered  with  a  strange,  disquieting  look  at  him.  She  had 
taken  one  side  of  the  bag  of  books  in  spite  of  his  protest, 
and  now  walked  by  Ralph's  side  through  the  evening  cool- 
ness. 

"  This  is  the  first  time  you  have  been  hereaway  ?  "  his 
companion  asked. 
•     Ralph  nodded  a  quick  affirmative  and  smiled. 

"  Then,"  said  Jess  Kissock,  the  rich  blood  mantling  her 
dark  cheeks,  "  I  am  the  first  from  the  Dullarg  you  have 
spoken  to  I " 

"  The  very  first ! "  said  Ralph. 

"  Then  I  am  glad,"  said  Jess  Kissock.  But  in  the  young 
man's  heart  there  was  no  answering  gladness,  though  in 
very  sooth  she  was  an  exceeding  handsome  maid. 


THE  BLANKET-WASHING.  3 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE    BLANKET-WASHING. 

Ralph  Peden  lay  well  content  under  a  thorn  bush  above 
the  Grannoch  water.  It  was  the  second  day  of  his  sojourn- 
ing in  Galloway — the  first  of  his  breathing  the  heather 
scent  on  which  the  bees  grew  tipsy,  and  of  listening  to  the 
grasshoppers  chirring  in  the  long  bent  by  the  loch  side. 
Yesterday  his  father's  friend,  Allan  Welsh,  minister  of  the 
Marrow  kirk  in  the  parish  of  Dullarg,  had  held  high  dis- 
course with  him  as  to  his  soul's  health,  and  made  many  in- 
quiries as  to  how  it  sped  in  the  great  city  with  the  preca- 
rious handful  of  pious  folk,  who  gathered  to  listen  to  the 
precious  and  savoury  truths  of  the  jiure  Marrow  teaching. 
Ralph  Peden  was  charged  with  many  messages  from  his 
father,  the  metropolitan  Marrow  minister,  to  Allan  Welsh — 
dear  to  his  soul  as  the  only  minister  who  had  upheld  the 
essentials  on  that  great  day,  when  among  the  assembled 
Presbyters  so  many  had  gone  backward  and  walked  no  more 
with  him. 

"  Be  faithful  with  the  young  man,  my  son,"  Allan 
Welsh  read  in  the  quaintly  sealed  and  delicately  written 
letter  which  his  brother  minister  in  Edinburgh  had  sent 
to  him,  and  which  Ralph  had  duly  delivered  in  the  square, 
grim  manse  of  Dullarg,  with  a  sedate  and  old-fashioned 
reverence  which  sat  strangely  on  one  of  his  years.  "  Be 
faithful  with  the  young  man,"  continued  the  letter ;  "  he 
is  well  grounded  on  the  fundamentals ;  his  head  is  filled 
with  godly  lear,  and  he  has  sound  views  on  the  Headship ; 
but  he  has  always  been  a  little  cold  and  distant  even  to  me, 
his  father  according  to  the  flesh.  With  his  companions  he 
is  apt  to  be  distant  and  reserved.     I  am  to  blame  for  the 


4  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

solitude  of  our  life  here  in  James's  Court,  but  to  you 
I  do  not  need  to  tell  the  reason  of  that.  The  Lord  give 
you  his  guidance  in  leading  the  young  man  in  the  right 
way." 

So  far  Gilbert  Peden's  letter  had  run  staidly  and  in 
character  like  the  spoken  words  of  the  writer.  But  here  it 
broke  off.  The  writing,  hitherto  fine  as  a  hair,  thickened ; 
and  from  this  point  became  crowded  and  difficult,  as 
though  the  floods  of  feeling  had  broken  some  dam.  "  0 
man  Allan,  for  my  sake,  if  at  all  you  have  loved  me,  or 
owe  me  anything,  dig  deep  and  see  if  the  lad  has  a  heart. 
He  shews  it  not  to  nie." 

So  that  is  why  Ralph  Peden  lies  couched  in  the  sparce 
bells  of  the  liug,  just  where  the  dry,  twisted  timothy  grasses 
are  beginning  to  overcrown  the  purple  bells  of  the  heather. 
Tall  and  clean-limbed,  with  a  student's  pallor  of  clear-cut 
face,  a  slightly  ascetic  stoop,  dark  brown  curls  clustering 
over  a  white  forehead,  and  eyes  which  looked  steadfast  and 
true,  the  young  man  was  sufficient  of  a  hero.  He  wore  a 
broad  straw  hat,  which  he  had  a  pleasant  habit  of  pushing 
back,  so  that  his  clustering  locks  fell  over  his  brow  after  a 
•fashion  which  all  women  thought  becoming.  But  Ealph 
Peden  heeded  not  what  women  thought,  said,  or  did,  for  he 
was  trysted  to  the  kirk  of  the  Marrow,  the  sole  repertory 
of  orthodox  truth  in  Scotland,  which  is  as  good  as  saying 
in  the  wide  world — perhaps  even  in  the  universe. 

Ealph  Peden  had  dwelt  all  his  life  with  his  father  in  an 
old  house  in  James's  Court,  Edinburgh,  overlooking  the 
great  bounding  circle  of  the  northern  horizon  and  the  east- 
ern sea.  He  had  been  trained  by  his  father  to  think  more 
of  a  professor's  opinion  on  his  Hebrew  exercise  than  of  a 
woman's  opinion  on  any  subject  whatever.  He  had  been 
told  that  women  were  an  indispensable  part  of  the  economy 
of  creation ;  but,  though  he  accepted  word  by  word  the 


THE  BLANKET-WASHING.  5 

Westminster  Confession,  and  as  an  inexorable  addition  the 
confessions  and  protests  of  the  remnant  of  the  true  kirk  in 
Scotland  (known  as  the  Marrow  kirk),  he  could  not  but 
consider  woman  a  poor  makeshift,  even  as  providing  for  the 
continuity  of  the  race.  Surely  she  had  not  been  created 
when  God  looked  upon  all  that  he  had  made  and  found  it 
very  good.     The  thought  preserved  Ealph's  orthodoxy. 

Ealph  Peden  had  come  out  into  the  morning  air,  with 
his  note-book  and  a  volume  which  he  had  been  studying  all 
the  way  from  Edinburgh.  As  he  lay  at  length  among  the 
grass  he  conned  it  over  and  over.  He  referred  to  passages 
here  and  there.  He  set  out  very  calmly  with  that  kind  of 
determination  with  which  a  day's  work  in  the  open  air  with 
a  book  is  often  begun.  JS'ot  for  a  moment  did  he  break  the 
monotony  of  his  study.  The  marshalled  columns  of  strange 
letters  were  mowed  down  before  him. 

A  great  humble-bee,  barred  with  tawny  orange,  worked 
his  way  up  from  his  hole  in  the  bank,  buzzing  shrilly  in  an 
impatient,  stifled  manner  at  finding  his  dwelling  blocked  as 
to  its  exit  by  a  mountainous  bulk.  Ralph  Peden  rose  in  a 
hurry.  The  beast  seemed  to  be  inside  his  coat.  He  had 
instinctively  hated  bees  and  everything  that  buzzed  ever 
since  as  a  child  he  had  made  experiments  with  the  paper 
nest  of  a  tree-building  wasp.  The  humble-bee  buzzed  a 
little  more,  discontentedly,  thought  of  going  back,  crept  out 
at  last  from  beneath  the  Hebrew  Lexicon,  and  appeared  to 
comb  his  hair  with  his  feeler.  Then  he  slowly  mounted 
along  the  broad  blade  of  a  meadow  fox-tail  grass,  which 
bent  under  him  as  if  to  afford  him  an  elastic  send-off  upon 
his  flight.  With  a  spring  he  lumbered  up,  taking  his  way 
over  the  single  field  which  separated  his  house  from  the 
edge  of  the  Grannoch  water — where  on  the  other  side,  above 
the  glistening  sickle-sweep  of  sand  which  looked  so  inviting, 
yet  untouched  under  the  pines  by  the  morning  sun,  the 


6  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

hyacinths  lay  Hke  a  bhie  wreath  of  peat  smoke  in  the  liol- 
lows  of  the  wood. 

But  there  was  a  whiff  of  real  peat  smoke  somewhere  in 
the  air,  and  Ralph  Peden,  before  he  returned  to  his  book, 
was  aware  of  the  murmur  of  voices.  He  moved  away  from 
the  humble-bee's  dwelling  and  established  himself  on  a 
quieter  slope  under  a  bush  of  broom.  A  whin-chat  said 
"  check,  check  "  above  him,  and  flirted  a  brilliant  tail ;  but 
Ealj)h  Peden  was  not  afraid  of  whin-chats.  Here  he  settled 
himself  to  study,  knitting  his  brows  and  drumming  on'the 
ground  with  the  toe  of  one  foot  to  concentrate  his  attention. 
The  whin-chat  could  hear  him  murmuring  to  himself  at 
intervals,  "  Surely  that  is  the  sense — it  must  be  taken  this 
way."  Sometimes,  on  the  contrary,  he  shook  his  head  at 
Luther's  Commentary,  which  lay  on  the  short,  warm  turf 
before  him,  as  if  in  reproof.  Ralph  was  of  ojainion  that 
LutKer,  but  for  his  great  protective  reputation,  and  the  fact 
that  he  had  been  dead  some  time,  might  have  been  served 
with  a  libel  for  heresy — at  least  if  he  had  ministered  to  the 
Marrow  kirk. 

Then  after  a  little  he  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  to 
think,  and  lay  back  till  he  could  just  see  one  little  bit  of 
Loch  Granuoch  gleaming  through  the  trees,  and  the  farm 
of  Nether  Crae  set  on  the  hillside  high  above  it.  He  count- 
ed the  sheep  on  the  green  field  over  the  loch,  numbering 
the  lambs  twice  because  they  frisked  irresponsibly  about, 
being  full  of  frivolity  and  having  no  opinions  upon  Luther 
to  sober  them. 

Gradually  a  haze  spun  itself  over  the  landscape,  and 
Ralph  Peden's  head  slowly  fell  back  till  it  rested  somewhat 
sharply  upon  a  spikelet  of  prickly  whin.  His  whole  body 
sat  up  instantly,  with  an  exclamation  which  was  quite  in 
Luther's  manner.  He  had  not  been  sleeping.  He  rejected 
the  thought ;  yet  he  acknowledged  that  it  was  nevertheless 


THE  BLANKET-WASHING.  7 

passing  strange  that,  just  where  the  old  single-arched  bridge 
takes  a  long  stride  over  the  Grannoch  lane,  there  was  now  a 
great  black  pot  a-swing  above  a  blinking  pale  fire  of  peats 
and  fir-branches,  and  a  couple  of  great  tubs  set  close  to- 
gether on  stones  which  he  had  not  seen  before.  There  was, 
too,  a  ripple  of  girls'  laughter,  which  sent  a  strange  stirring 
of  excitement  along  the  nerves  of  the  young  man.  He 
gathered  his  books  to  move  away ;  but  on  second  thoughts, 
looking  through  the  long,  swaying  tendrils  of  the  broom 
under  which  he  sat,  he  resolved  to  remain.  After  all,  the 
girls  might  be  as  harmless  as  his  helper  of  yesterday. 

"  Yet  it  is  most  annoying,"  he  said  ;  "  I  had  been  quieter 
in  James's  Court." 

Still  he  smiled  a  little  to  himself,  for  the  broom  did  not 
grow  in  James's  Court,  nor  the  blackbirds  flute  their  mel- 
low whistle  there. 

Loch  Grannoch  stretched  away  three  miles  to  the  south, 
basking  in  alternate  blue  and  white,  as  cloud  and  sky  mir- 
rored themselves  upon  it.  The  first  broad  rush  of  the  ling* 
Avas  climbing  the  slopes  of  the  Crae  Hill  above — a  pale  lav- 
ender near  the  loch-side,  deepening  to  crimson  on  the  dryer 
slopes  where  the  heath-bells  grew  shorter  and  thicker  to- 
gether. The  wimpling  lane  slid  as  silently  away  from  the 
sleeping  loch  as  though  it  were  eloping  and  feared  to 
awake  an  angry  parent.  The  whole  range  of  hill  and 
wood  and  water  was  drenched  in  sunshine.  Silence  clothed 
it  like  a  garment — save  only  for  the  dark  of  the  shadow 
under  the  bridge,  from  whence  had  come  that  ring  of  girl- 
ish laughter  which  had  jarred  upon  the  nerves  of  Ralph 
Peden. 

Suddenly  there  emerged  from  the  indigo  shade  where 
the  blue  spruces  overarched  the  bridge  a  girl  carrying  two 

*  Common  heath  {Erica  tetralix). 


8  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

sliiuing  pails  of  water.  Her  arms  were  bare,  her  sleeves 
being  rolled  high  above  her  elbow ;  and  her  figure,  tall  and 
shapely,  swayed  gracefully  to  the  movement  of  the  pails. 
Ralph  did  not  know  before  that  there  is  an  art  in  carrying 
water.  He  was  ignorant  of  many  things,  but  even  with  his 
views  on  woman's  place  in  the  economy  of  the  universe,  he 
could  not  but  be  satisfied  with  the  fitness  and  the  beauty  of 
the  girl  who  came  up  the  path,  swinging  her  pails  with  the 
compensatory  sway  of  lissom  body,  and  that  strong  outward 
flex  of  the  elbow  which  kejjt  the  brimming  cans  swinging 
in  safety  by  her  side. 

Eal]3h  Peden  never  took  his  eyes  off  her  as  she  came,  the 
theories  of  James's  Court  notwithstanding.  Xor  indeed 
need  we  for  a  little.  For  this  is  Winifred,  better  known  as 
Winsome  Charteris,  a  very  important  young  person  indeed, 
to  whose  beauty  and  wit  the  poets  of  three  parishes  did  vain 
reverence  ;  and,  what  she  might  well  value  more,  whose  but- 
ter was  the  best  (and  commanded  the  highest  price)  of  any 
that  went  into  Dumfries  market  on  Wednesdays. 

Fair  hair,  crisping  and  teudrilling  over  her  brow,  swept 
back  in  loose  and  flossy  circlets  till  caught  close  behind  her 
head  by  a  tiny  ribbon  of  blue — then  again  escaping  it  went 
scattering  and  wavering  over  her  shoulders  wonderingly,  like 
nothing  on  earth  but  Winsome  Charteris's  hair.  It  was  small 
wonder  that  the  local  poets  grew  grey  before  their  time  in 
trying  to  find  a  rhyme  for  "  sunshine,"  a  substantive  which, 
for  the  first  time,  they  had  applied  to  a  girl's  hair.  For  the 
rest,  a  face  rather  oval  than  long,  a  nose  which  the  school- 
master declared  was  "  statuesque  "  (used  in  a  good  sense,  he 
explained  to  the  village  folk,  who  could  never  be  brought  to 
see  the  difference  between  a  statue  and  an  idol — the  second 
commandment  being  of  literal  interpretation  along  the  Loch 
Grannoch  side),  and  eyes  which,  emulating  the  parish  poet, 
we  can  only  describe  as  like  two  blue  waves  when  they  rise 


THE   BLANKET-WASHING.  9 

Just  far  enough  to  catch  a  sparkle  of  light  on  their  crests. 
The  subject  of  her  mouth,  though  tempting,  we  refuse  to 
touch.  Its  descrij^tion  has  already  wrecked  three  promising 
reputations. 

But  withal  Winsome  Charteris  set  her  pails  as  frankly 
and  plumply  on  the  ground,  as  though  she  were  plain  as  a 
pike-staff,  and  bent  a  moment  over  to  look  into  the  gypsy- 
pot  swung  on  its  birchen  triangle.  Then  she  made  an  im- 
patient movement  of  her  hand,  as  if  to  push  the  biting  fir- 
wood  smoke  aside.  This  angered  Ealph,  who  considered  it 
ridiculous  and  ill-ordered  that  a  gesture  which  showed  only 
a  hasty  temper  and  ill-regulated  mind  should  be  undeniably 
pretty  and  pleasant  to  look  upon,  just  because  it  was  made  by 
a  girl's  hand.  He  was  angry  with  himself,  yet  he  hoped  she 
would  do  it  again.  Instead,  she  took  up  one  pail  of  water 
after  the  other,  swung  them  upward  with  a  single  dexterous 
movement,  and  poured  the  water  into  the  pot,  from  which 
the  steam  was  rising.  Ealph  Peden  could  see  the  sunlight 
sparkle  in  the  water  as  it  arched  itself  solidly  out  of  the 
pails.  He  was  not  near  enough  to  see  the  lilac  sprig  on 
her  liglit  summer  gown ;  but  the  lilac  sunbonnet  which 
she  wore,  principally  it  seemed  in  order  that  it  might 
hang  by  the  strings  upon  her  shoulders,  was  to  Ralph 
a  singularly  attractive  jDiece  of  colour  in  the  landsca})e. 
This  he  did  not  resent,  because  it  is  always  safe  to  admire 
colour. 

Ealph  would  have  been  glad  to  have  been  able  to  slip 
off  quietly  to  the  manse.  He  told  himself  so  over  and  over 
again,  till  he  believed  it.  This  process  is  easy.  But  he  saw 
very  well  that  he  could  not  rise  from  the  lee  of  the  whin  bush 
without  being  in  full  view  of  this  eminently  practical  and 
absurdly  attractive  young  woman.  So  he  turned  to  his  He- 
brew Lexicon  with  a  sigh,  and  a  grim  contraction  of  deter- 
mined brows  which  recalled  his  father.     A  country  girl  was 


10  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

nothing  to  the  hunter  after  curious  roots  and  the  amateur 
of  finely  shaded  significances  in  Piel  and  Puah 

"  I  will  not  be  distracted  !  "  Ralph  said  doggedly,  though 
a  Scot,  correct  for  once  in  his  grammar ;  and  he  pursued  a 
recalcitrant  particle  through  the  dictionary  like  a  sleuth- 
hound. 

A  clear  shrill  whistle  rang  through  the  slumberous  sum- 
mer air. 

"  Bless  me,"  said  Ralph,  startled,  "  this  is  most  discom- 
posing !  "  . 

He  raised  himself  cautiously  on  his  elbow,  and  beheld 
the  girl  of  the  water-pails  standing  in  the  full  sunshine  with 
her  lilac  sunbonnet  in  her  hand.  She  waved  it  high  above 
her  head,  then  she  paused  a  moment  to  look  right  in  his 
direction  under  her  hand  held  level  with  her  brows.  Sud- 
denly she  dropped  the  sunbonnet,  put  a  couple  of  fingers 
into  her  mouth  in  a  manner  which,  if  Ralph  had  only  known 
it,  was  much  admired  of  all  the  young  men  in  the  parish, 
and  whistled  clear  and  loud,  so  that  the  stone-chat  fluttered 
up  indignant  and  scurried  to  a  shelter  deeper  among  the  gorse. 
A  most  revolutionary  young  person  this.  He  regretted  that 
the  humble-bee  had  moved  him  nearer  the  bridge. 

Ralph  was  deeply  shocked  that  a  girl  should  whistle,  and 
still  more  that  she  should  use  two  fingers  to  do  it,  for  all  the 
world  like  a  shepherd  on  the  hill.  He  bethought  him  that 
not  one  of  his  cousins.  Professor  Habakkuk  Thriepneuk's 
daughters  (who  studied  Chaldaeic  with  their  father),  would 
ever  have  dreamed  of  doing  that.  He  imagined  their  horror 
at  the  thought,  and  a  picture,  compound  of  Jemima,  Kezia, 
and  Kerenhappuch,  rose  before  him. 

Down  the  hill,  out  from  beneath  the  dark  green  solid- 
foliaged  elder  bushes,  there  came  a  rush  of  dogs. 

"  Save  us,"  said  Ralph,  who  saw  himself  discovered,  "  the 
deil's  in  the  lassie ;  she'll  have  the  dogs  on  me !  " — an  expres- 


THE   BLANKET-WASHING.  H 

sion  he  had  learned  from  John  Bairdison,  his  father's 
"  man,"  *  who  in  an  nuhallowed  youth  had  followed  the  sea. 

Then  he  would  have  reproved  himself  for  the  unlicensed 
exclamation  as  savouring  of  the  "  minced  oath,"  had  he  not 
been  taken  up  with  watching  the  dogs.  There  were  two  of 
them.  One  was  a  large,  rough  deerhound,  clean  cut  about 
the  muzzle,  shaggy  everywhere  else,  which  ran  first,  taking 
the  hedges  in  his  stride.  The  other  was  a  small,  short-haired 
collie,  which,  with  his  ears  laid  back  and  an  air  of  grim  de- 
termination not  to  be  left  behind,  followed  grimly  after. 
The  collie  went  under  the  hedges,  diving  instinctively  for 
the  holes  which  the  hares  had  made  as  they  went  down  to  the 
water  for  their  evening  drink.  Both  dogs  crossed  to  wind- 
ward of  him,  racing  for  their  mistress.  When  they  reached 
the  green  level  where  the  great  tubs  stood  they  leaped  upon 
her  with  short  sharp  barks  of  gladness.  She  fended  them 
off  again  with  gracefully  impatient  hand ;  then  bending  low, 
she  pointed  to  the  loch-side  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below,  where 
a  herd  of  half  a  dozen  black  Galloway  cows,  flecked  with 
the  red  and  white  of  the  smaller  Ayrshires,  could  be  seen 
pushing  its  way  through  the  lush  heavy  grass  of  the  water 
meadow. 

"  Away  by  there  !  Fetch  them,  Eoger  !  "  she  cried. 
"  Haud  at  them — the  kye's  in  the  meadow  !  " 

The  dogs  darted  away  level.  The  cows  continued  their 
slow  advance,  browsing  as  they  went,  but  in  a  little  while 
their  dark  fronts  were  turned  towards  the  dogs  as  after  a 
momentary  indecision  they  recognized  an  enemy.  With  a 
startled  rush  the  herd  drove  through  the  meadow  and 
poured  across  the  unfenced  road  up  to  the  hill  pasture  which 
they  had  left,  whose  scanty  grasses  had  doubtless  turned  slow 
bovine  thoughts  to  the  coolness  of  the  meadow  grass,  and 

*  Church  officer  and  minister's  servant. 


12  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

the  pleasure  of  standing  ruminant  knee-deep  in  the  river, 
with  wavy  tail  flicking  the  flies  in  the  shade. 

For  a  little  while  Ralph  Peden  breathed  freely  again,  but 
his  satisfaction  was  short-lived.  One  girl  was  discomposing 
enough,  but  here  were  two.  Moreover  the  new-comer,  hav- 
ing arranged  some  blankets  in  a  tub  to  her  satisfaction, 
calmly  tucked  up  her  skirts  in  a  professioual  manner  and 
got  bare-foot  into  the  tub  beside  them.  Then  it  dawned 
upon  Ealph,  who  was  not  very  instructed  on  matters  of 
household  economy,  that  he  had  chanced  upon  a  Galloway 
blanket- washing;  and  that,  like  the  gentleman  who  spied 
upon  Musidora's  toilet,  of  whom  he  had  read  in  Mr.  James 
Thomson's  Seasons,  he  might  possibly  see  more  than  he  had 
come  out  to  see. 

Yet  it  was  impossible  to  rise  composedly  and  take  his 
way  manseward.  Ealph  wished  now  that  he  had  gone  at 
the  first  alarm.  It  had  become  so  much  more  difticult  now, 
as  indeed  it  always  does  in  such  cases.  Moreover,  he  was  cer- 
tain that  these  two  vagabonds  of  curs  would  return.  And 
they  would  be  sure  to  find  him  out.  Dogs  were  unnecessary 
and  inconvenient  beasts,  always  sniffing  and  nosing  about. 
He  decided  to  wait.  The  new-comer  of  the  kilts  was  after 
all  no  Naiad  or  Hebe.  Her  outlines  did  not  resemble  to  any 
marked  degree  the  plates  in  his  excellent  classical  diction- 
ary. She  was  not  short  in  stature,  but  so  strong  and  of  a 
complexion  so  ruddily  beaming  above  the  reaming  white 
which  filled  the  blanket  tub,  that  her  mirthful  face  shone 
like  the  sun  through  an  evening  mist. 

But  Ealph  did  not  notice  that,  in  so  far  as  she  could,  she 
had  relieved  the  taller  maiden  of  the  heavier  share  of  the 
work ;  and  that  her  laugh  was  hung  on  a  hair  trigger,  to  go 
off  at  every  jest  and  fancy  of  Winsome  Charteris.  All  this 
is  to  introduce  Miss  Meg  Kissock,  chief  and  favoured  maid- 
servant at  the  Dullarg  farm,  and  devoted  worshipper  of  Win- 


THE  BLANKET-WASHING.  13 

some,  the  young  mistress  thereof.  Meg  indeed,  would  have 
thanked  no  one  for  an  introduction,  being  at  all  times  well 
able  (and  willing)  to  introduce  herself. 

It  had  been  a  shock  to  Kalpli  Peden  Avhen  Meg  Kis- 
sock  walked  up  from  the  lane-side  barefoot,  and  when  slie 
cleared  the  decks  for  the  blanket  tramping.  But  he  had 
seen  something  like  it  before  on  the  banks  of  the  water  of 
Leith,  then  running  clear  and  limpid  over  its  pebbles,  save 
for  a  Hour-mill  or  two  on  the  lower  reaches.  But  it  was  al- 
together another  thing  when,  plain  as  print,  he  saw  his  first 
goddess  of  the  shining  water-pails  sit  calmly  down  on  the 
great  granite  boulder  in  the  shadow  of  the  bridge,  and  take 
one  small  foot  in  her  hand  with  the  evident  intention  of 
removing  her  foot-gear  and  occupying  the  second  tub. 

The  hot  blood  surged  in  responsive  shame  to  Ealph 
Peden's  cheeks  and  temples.  He  started  up.  Meg  Kissock 
was  tramping  the  blankets  rhythmically,  holding  her  green 
kirtle  well  up  with  both  hands,  and  singing  with  all  her 
might.  The  goddess  of  the  shining  pails  was  also  happily 
unconscious,  with  her  face  to  the  running  water.  Ralph 
bent  low  and  hastened  through  a  gap  in  the  fence  towards 
the  shade  of  the  elder  bushes  on  the  slope.  He  did  not 
run — he  has  never  acknowledged  that ;  but  he  certainly 
came  almost  indistinguishably  near  it.  As  soon,  however, 
as  he  was  really  out  of  sight,  he  actually  did  take  to  his 
heels  and  run  in  the  direction  of  the  manse,  disconcerted 
and  demoralized. 

The  dogs  completed  his  discomfiture,  for  they  cauglit 
sight  of  his  flying  figure  and  gave  chase — contenting  them- 
selves, however,  with  pausing  on  the  hillside  where  Ralph 
had  been  lying,  with  indignant  barkings  and  militant  tails 
high  crested  in  air. 

Winsome  Charteris  went  up  to  the  broom  bushes  which 
fringed  the  slope  to  find  out  what  was  the  matter  with  Tyke 


14  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

and  Eoger.  When  she  got  there,  a  slim  black  figure  was 
just  vanishing  round  the  white  bend  of  the  Far  Away 
Turn.  Winsome  whistled,  low  this  time,  and  without  put- 
ting even  one  finger  into  her  mouth. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    MOTHER    OF    KIIS^G    LEMUEL. 

It  was  not  till  Ralph  Peden  had  returned  to  the  study 
of  the  manse  of  the  Marrow  kirk  of  Dullarg,  and  the  colour 
induced  by  exercise  had  had  time  to  die  out  of  his  naturally 
pale  cheeks,  that  he  remembered  that  he  had  left  his  He- 
brew Bible  and  Lexicon,  as  well  as  a  half-written  exegesis 
on  an  important  subject,  underneath  the  fatal  whin  bush 
above  the  bridge  over  the  Grannoch  water.  He  would  have 
been  glad  to  rise  and  seek  it  immediately — a  task  which, 
indeed,  no  longer  presented  itself  in  such  terrible  colours 
to  him.  He  found  himself  even  anxious  to  go.  It  would 
be  a  serious  thing  were  he  to  lose  his  father's  Lexicon  and 
Mr.  Welsh's  Hebrew  Bible.  Moreover,  he  could  not  bear 
the  thought  of  leaving  the  sheets  of  his  exposition  of  the 
last  chapter  of  Proverbs  to  be  the  sport  of  the  gamesome 
Galloway  winds — or,  worse  thought,  the  laughing-stock  of 
gamesome  young  women  who  whistled  with  two  fingers  in 
their  mouths. 

Yet  the  picture  of  the  maid  of  the  loch  which  rose  be- 
fore him  struck  him  as  no  unpleasant  one.  He  remem- 
bered for  one  thing  how  the  sun  shone  through  the  tangle 
of  her  hair.  But  he  had  quite  forgotten,  on  the  other  hand, 
at  what  part  of  his  exegesis  he  had  left  off.  It  was,  how- 
ever, a  manifost  impossibility  for  him  to  slip  out  again. 


THE   MOTHER  OF   KING    LEMUEL.  15 

Besides,  he  was  in  mortal  terror  lest  Mr,  Welsh  should  ask 
for  his  Hebrew  Bible,  or  offer  to  revise  his  chapter  of  the 
day  with  him.  All  the  afternoon  he  was  uneasy,  finding 
no  excuse  to  take  himself  away  to  the  loch-side  in  order  to 
find  his  Bible  and  Lexicon. 

"  I  understand  you  have  been  studying,  with  a  view  to 
license,  the  last  chapter  of  the  Proverbs  of  Solomon  ?  "  said 
Gilbert  Welsh,  interrogatively,  bending  his  shaggy  brows 
and  pouting  his  underlip  at  the  student. 

The  Marrow  minister  was  a  small  man,  with  a  body  so 
dried  and  twisted  ("shauchelt"  was  the  local  word)  that 
all  the  nerve  stulf  of  a  strong  nature  had  run  up  to  his 
brain,  so  that  when  he  walked  he  seemed  always_  on  the 
point  of  falling  forward,  overbalanced  by  the  weight  of  his 
clilf-like  brow. 

"  Ralph,  will  you  ground  the  argument  of  the  mother 
of  King  Lemuel  in  this  chapter  ?  But  perhaps  you  would 
like  to  refer  to  the  original  Hebrew  ?  "  said  the  minister. 

"  Oh,  no,"  interrupted  Ralph,  aghast  at  the  latter  sug- 
gestion, "  I  do  not  need  the  text — thank  you,  sir." 

But,  in  spite  of  his  disclaimer,  he  devoutly  desired  to  be 
where  the  original  text  and  his  written  comment  upon  it 
were  at  that  moment — which,  indeed,  was  a  consummation 
even  more  devoutly  to  be  wished  than  he  had  any  suspicion 
of.  The  Marrow  minister  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  and 
looked  waitingly  at  the  young  man. 

Ralph  recalled  himself  with  an  effort.  He  had  to  repeat 
to  himself  that  he  was  in  the  manse  study,  and  almost  to  pinch 
his  knee  to  convince  himself  of  the  reality  of  his  experi- 
ences. But  this  was  not  necessary  a  second  time,  for,  as  he 
sat  hastily  down  on  one  of  Allen  Welsh's  hard-wood  chairs,  a 
prickle  from  the  gorse  bush  which  he  had  brought  back 
with  him  from  Loch  Grannoch  side  was  argument  sharp 
enough  to  convince  Bishop  Berkeley. 


16  THE   LTLAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  Compose  yourself  to  answer  my  question,"  said  the 
minister,  with  some  slight  severity.  Ralph  wondered  silently 
if  even  a  minister  of  the  Marrow  kirk  in  good  standing, 
could  compose  himself  on  one  whin  prickle  for  certain,  and 
the  probability  of  several  others  developing  themselves  at 
various  angles  hereafter. 

Ealph  "  grounded  "  himself  as  best  as  he  could,  explain- 
ing the  views  of  the  mother  of  King  Lemuel  as  to  the 
woman  of  virtue  and  faithfulness.  He  seemed  to  himself 
to  have  a  fluency  and  a  fervour  in  exposition  to  which  he 
had  been  a  stranger.  He  began  to  have  new  views  about 
the  necessity  for  the  creation  of  Eve.  Woman  might  possi- 
bly, after  all,  be  less  purely  gratuitous  than  he  had  sup- 
posed. 

"  The  woman  who  is  above  rubies,"  said  he,  "  is  one 
who  rises  early  to  care  for  the  house,  who  oversees  the 
handmaids  as  they  cleanse  the  household  stuffs — in  a  "  (he 
just  saved  himself  from  saying  "  in  a  black  pot ") — "  in  a 
fitting  vessel  by  the  rivers  of  water." 

"  Well  put  and  correctly  mandated,"  said  Mr.  Welsh, 
very  much  pleased.  There  was  unction  about  this  young 
man.  Though  a  bachelor  by  profession,  he  loved  to  hear 
the  j^raises  of  good  women ;  for  he  had  once  known  one. 

"  She  openeth  her  mouth  with  wisdom  ;  and " 

Here  Ealph  paused,  biting  his  tongue  to  keep  from  de- 
scribing the  picture  which  rose  before  him. 

"  And  what,"  said  the  minister,  tentatively,  leaning  for- 
ward to  look  into  the  open  face  of  the  young  man,  "  what 
is  the  distinction  or  badge  of  true  beauty  and  favour  of 
countenance,  as  so  well  expressed  by  the  mother  of  King 
Lemuel  ?  " 

"  A  LILAC  SUNBONNET !  "  said  Ralph  Peden,  student  in 
divinity. 


A  TliEASU  RE-TROVE.  17 

CHAPTER  III. 

A   TREASURE-TKOVE. 

Winsome  Charteris  was  a  self-possessed  maid,  but 
undeniably  her  heart  beat  faster  when  she  found  on  the 
brae  face,  beneath  the  bush  of  broom,  two  books  the  like  of 
which  she  had  never  seen  before,  as  well  as  an  open  note- 
book with  writing  upon  it  in  the  neatest  and  delicatest  of 
hands.  First,  as  became  a  prudent  woman  of  experience, 
she  went  up  to  the  top  of  the  hill  to  assure  herself  that  the 
owner  of  this  strange  treasure  was  not  about  to  return. 
Then  she  carefully  let  down  her  high-kilted  print  dress  till 
only  her  white  feet  "  like  little  mice  "  stole  in  and  out.  It 
did  not  strike  her  that  this  sacrifice  to  the  conventions 
was  just  a  trifle  belated. 

As  she  returned  she  said  "  Shoo  !  "  at  every  tangled  bush, 
and  flapped  her  apron  as  if  to  scare  whatever  curious  wild 
fowl  might  have  left  behind  it  in  its  nest  under  the  broom 
such  curious  nest-eggs  as  two  great  books  full  of  strange, 
bewitched-looking  printing,  and  a  note-book  of  curious  and 
interesting  writings.  Then,  with  a  half  sigh  of  disappoint- 
ment. Winsome  Charteris  sat  herself  down  to  look  into  this 
matter.  Meg  Kissock  from  the  bridge  end  showed  signs  of 
coming  up  to  see  what  she  was  about ;  but  Winsome  im- 
periously checked  the  movement. 

"  Bide  where  you  are,  Meg ;  I'll  be  down  with  you  pres- 
ently." 

She  turned  over  the  great  Hebrew  Bible  reverently. 
"  A.  Welsh  "  was  written  on  the  fly-leaf.  She  had  a  strange 
idea  that  she  had  seen  it  before.  It  seemed  somehow 
thrillingly  familiar. 

"  That's  the  minister's  Hebrew  Bible  book,  no  doubt," 


18  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

she  said.  "  For  that's  the  same  kind  of  printing  as  between 
the  double  verses  of  the  hundred-and-nineteenth  Psalm  in 
my  grandfather's  big  Bible,"  she  continued,  sapiently  shak- 
ing her  head  till  the  crispy  ringlets  tumbled  about  her  eyes, 
and  she  had  impatiently  to  toss  them  aside. 

(She  laid  the  Bible  down  and  peeped  into  the  other 
strange-looking  book.  There  were  single  words  here  of 
the  same  kind  as  in  the  other,  but  the  most  part  was  in 
ordinary  type,  though  in  a  language  of  which  she  could 
make  nothing.  The  note-book  was  a  resource.  It  was  at 
least  readable,  and  Winsome  Charteris  began  expectantly  to 
turn  it  over.  But  something  stirred  reprovingly  in  her 
heart.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  listening  to  a  conversation 
not  meant  for  her.  So  she  kept  her  finger  on  the  leaf,  but 
did  not  turn  it. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  will  not  read  it.  It  is  not  meant  for 
me."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "  At  least  I  will  only  read  this 
page  which  is  open,  and  then  look  at  the  beginning  to  see 
whose  it  is ;  for,  you  know,  I  may  need  to  send  it  back  to 
him."  The  back  she  had  seen  vanish  round  the  Far  Away 
Turn  demanded  the  masculine  pronoun. 

She  lifted  the  book  and  read : 

"  Alas !  "  (so  ran  the  writing,  fluent  and  clear,  small  as 
printer's  type,  Ralph  Peden's  beautiful  Hellenic  script), 
"  alas,  that  the  good  qualities  of  the  housewives  of  Solo- 
mon's days  are  out  of  date  and  forgotten  in  these  degener- 
ate times !  Women,  especially  the  younger  of  them,  are 
become  gadabouts,  chatterers  in  the  public  ways,  idle, 
adorners  of  their  vain  selves,  pamperers  of  their  frail  tab- 
ernacles  " 

Winsome  threw  down  the  book  and  almost  trod  upon  it 
as  upon  a  snake. 

"  'Tis  some  city  fop,"  she  said,  stamping  her  foot,  "who 
is  tired  of  the  idle  town  dames.     I  wonder  if  he  has  ever 


A  TREASURE-TROVE.  19 

seen  the  sun  rise  or  done  a  day's  work  in  his  life?  If  only 
I  had  the  wretch  !     But  I  will  read  no  more  !  " 

In  token  of  the  sincerity  of  the  last  assertion,  she  picked 
up  the  note-book  again.  There  was  little  more  to  read.  It 
was  at  this  point  that  the  humble-bee  had  startled  the 
writer. 

But  underneath  there  were  words  faintly  scrawled  in 
pencil :  "  Must  concentrate  attention  " — "  The  proper  study 
of  mankind  is  " — this  last  written  twice,  as  if  the  writer 
were  practising  copy-lines  absently.  Then  at  the  very  bot- 
tom was  written,  so  faintly  that  hardly  any  eyes  but  Win- 
some's  could  have  read  the  words  : 

"  Of  all  colours  I  do  love  the  lilac.  I  wonder  all  maids 
do  not  wear  gear  of  that  hue  !  " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Winsome  Charteris  quickly. 

Then  she  gathered  up  the  books  very  gently,  and  taking 
a  kerchief  from  her  neck,  she  folded  the  two  great  books 
within  it,  fastening  them  with  a  cunning  knot.  She  was 
carrying  them  slowly  up  towards  the  farm  town  of  Craig 
Eonald  in  her  bare  arms  when  Ralph  Peden  sat  answering 
his  catechism  in  the  study  at  the  manse.  She  entered  the 
dreaming  court-yard,  and  walked  sedately  across  its  silent 
sun-flooded  spaces  without  a  sound.  She  passed  the  door 
of  the  cool  parlour  where  her  grandfather  and  grandmother 
sat,  the  latter  with  her  hands  folded  and  her  great  tortoise- 
shell  spectacles  on  her  nose,  taking  her  afternoon  nap.  A 
volume  of  Waverley  lay  beside  her.  Into  her  own  white 
little  room  Winsome  went,  and  laid  the  bundle  of  books  in 
the  bottom  of  the  wall-press,  which  was  lined  with  sheets  of 
the  Cairn  Edward  Miscellany.  She  looked  at  it  some  time 
before  she  shut  the  door. 

"  His  name  is  Ralph,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  how  old  he 
is — I  shall  know  to-morrow,  because  he  will  come  back ; 
but — I  would  like  to  know  to-night." 


20  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

She  sighed  a  little — so  light  a  breath  that  it  was  only 
the  dream  of  a  sigh.  Then  she  looked  at  the  lilac  sunbon- 
net,  as  if  it  ought  to  have  known. 

"  At  any  rate  he  has  very  good  taste,"  she  said. 

But  the  lilac  suubounet  said  never  a  word. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    CAVALIER    PURITAN. 

TnE  farm  town  of  Craig  Ronald  drowsed  in  the  quiet  of 
noon.  In  the  open  court  the  sunshine  triumphed,  and  only 
the  purple-grey  marsh  mallows  along  the  side  of  the  house 
under  the  windows  gave  any  sign  of  life.  In  them  the  bees 
had  begun  to  hum  at  earliest  dawn,  an  hour  and  a  half  be- 
fore the  sun  looked  over  the  crest  of  Ben  Gairn.  They  were 
humming  busily  still.  In  all  the  chambers  of  the  house 
there  was  the  same  reposeful  stillness.  Through  them  Win- 
some Charteris  moved  -with  free,  light  step.  She  glanced  in 
to  see  that  her  grandfather  and  grandmother  were  wanting 
for  nothing  in  their  cool  and  wide  sitting-room,  where  the 
brown  mahogany-cased  eight-day  clock  kept  up  an  unequal 
ticking,  like  a  man  walking  upon  two  wooden  legs  of  which 
one  is  shorter  than  the  other. 

It  said  something  for  Winsome  Charteris  and  her  high- 
hearted courage,  that  what  she  was  accustomed  to  see  in  that 
sitting-room  had  no  effect  upon  her  spirits.  It  was  a  pleas- 
ant room  enough,  with  two  windows  looking  to  the  soutli — 
little  round-budded,  pale-petalled  monthly  roses  nodding 
and  peeping  within  the  opened  window-frames.  Sweet  it 
was  with  a  great  peace,  every  chair  covered  with  old 
sprigged  chintz,  flowers  of  the  wood  and  heather  from  the 


A  CAVALIER  PURITAN.  21 

hill  set  in  china  vases  about  it.  The  room  where  the  old 
folk  dwelt  at  Craig  Ronald  was  fresh  within  as  is  the  dew 
on  sweetbrier.  Fresh,  too,  was  the  apparel  of  her  grand- 
mother, the  flush  of  youth  yet  on  her  delicate  cheek,  though 
the  Psalmist's  limit  had  long  been  passed  for  her. 

As  Winsome  looked  within, 

"  Are  ye  not  sleeping,  grandmother  ?  "  she  said. 

The  old  lady  looked  up  with  a  resentful  air. 

"  Sleepin' !  The  lassie's  gane  gyte  !  [out  of  her  senses]. 
What  for  wad  I  be  sleepin'  in  the  afternune  ?  An'  me  wi' 
the  care  o'  yer  gran'faither — sic  a  handling,  him  nae  better 
nor  a  bairn,  an'  you  a  bit  feckless  hempie  wi'  yer  hair  flee- 
ing like  the  tail  o'  a  twa-year-auld  cowt!  [colt].  Sleepin' 
indeed !     Na,  sleepin's  nane  for  me  !  " 

The  young  girl  came  up  and  put  her  arms  about  her 
grandmother. 

"  That's  rale  unceevil  o'  ye,  uoo,  Granny  Whitemutch  !" 
she  said,  speaking  in  the  coaxing  tones  to  Avhich  the  Scots' 
language  lends  itself  so  easily,  "  an'  it's  just  because  I  hae 
been  sae  lang  at  the  blauket-washin',  seein'  till  that  hizzy 
Meg.  An'  ken  ye  what  I  saw ! — ane  o'  the  black  dragoons 
in  full   retreat,  grannie ;   but  he   left   his  camp  equipage 

ahint  him,  as  the  sergeant  said  when Ye  ken  the 

story,  grannie.  Ye  maun  hae  been  terrible  bonny  in  thae 
days !  " 

"  'Deed  I'm  nane  sae  unbonny  yet,  for  a'  yer  helicat 
fiichtmafleathers,  sprigget  goons,  an'  laylac  bonnets,"  said 
the  old  lady,  shaking  her  head  till  the  white  silk  top-knots 
trembled.  "  No,  nor  I'm  nane  sae  auld  nayther.  The  gude- 
man  in  the  corner  there,  he's  auld  and  dune  gin'ye  like,  but 
no  me — no  me  !  Gin  he  warna  spared  to  me,  I  could  even 
get  a  man  yet,"  continued  the  lively  old  lady,  "  an'  wliaur 
wad  ye  be  then,  my  lass,  I  wad  like  to  ken  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  could  get  one  too,  grannie,"  she  said.     And 


22  THE  LILAC  SUNBON^^ET. 

she  shook  her  head  with  an  air  of  triumph.  Winsome 
kissed  her  grandmother  gently  on  the  brow. 

"  Nane  o'  yer  Englishy  tricks  an'  trokin's,"  said  she, 
settling  the  white  muslin  band  which  she  wore  across  her 
brow  wrinkleless  and  straight,  where  it  had  been  disarrayed 
by  the  onslaught  of  her  impulsive  granddaughter, 

"  Aye,"  she  went  on,  stretching  out  a  hand  which  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  great  dame,  so  white  and  slender  was 
it  in  spite  of  the  hollows  which  ran  into  a  triangle  at  the 
wrist,  and  the  pale-blue  veins  which  the  slight  wrinkles 
have  thrown  into  relief. 

"  An'  I  mind  the  time  when  three  o'  his  Majesty's  offi- 
cers— nane  o'  yer  militia  wi'  horses  that  rin  awa'  wi'  them 
ilka  time  they  gang  oot  till  exerceese,  but  rale  sodgers  wi' 
sabre-tashies  to  tlieir  heels  and  spurs  like  pitawtie  dreels. 
Aye,  sirs,  but  that  was  before  I  married  an  elder  in  the  Kirk 
o'  the  Marrow.  I  wasna  twenty- three  when  I  had  dune 
wi'  the  gawds  an'  vanities  o'  this  wicked  world," 

"  I  saw  a  minister  lad  the  day — a  stranger,"  said  Win- 
some, very  quietly. 

"  Sirce  me,"  returned  her  grandmother  briskly  ;  "  kenned 
I  e'er  the  like  o'  ye,  Winifred  Chayrteris,  for  licht-heedit- 
ness  an'  lack  o'  a'  common  sense  !  Saw  a  minister  an'  ne'er 
thoclit,  belike,  o'  say  in'  cheep  ony  mair  nor  if  he  had  been 
a  wutterick  [weasel].  An' what  like  was  he,  na  ?  Was  he 
young,  or  auld — or  no  sae  verra  auld,  like  mysel'  ?  Did  he 
look  like  an  Establisher  by  the  consequence  o'  the  body, 
or " 

"  But,  grannie  dear,  how  is  it  possible  that  I  should 
ken,  when  all  that  I  saw  of  him  was  but  his  coat-tails  ?  It 
was  him  that  was  running  away." 

"  My  certes,"  said  grannie,  "  but  the  times  are  changed 
since  my  day !  When  I  was  as  young  as  ye  are  the  day  it 
wasna  sodger  or  minister  avther  that  wad  hae  run  frae  the 


A   CAVALIER   PURITAN.  23 

sicht  o'  me.  But  a  minister,  and  a  fine,  young-looking  man, 
I  think  ye  said,"  continued  Mistress  Walter  Skirving  anx- 
iously. 

"  Indeed,  grandmother,  I  said  nothing '?  began  Win- 
some. 

"  Hand  yer  tongue,  Deil's  i'  the  lassie,  he'll  be  comin' 
here.  Maybes  he's  comin'  np  the  loan  this  verra  meenit. 
Get  me  my  best  kep  [cap],  the  French  yin  o'  Flanders  lawn 
trimmed  wi'  Valenceenes  lace  that  Captain  Wildfeather,  of 

his  Majesty's But  na,  I'll  no  think  o'  thae  times,  I  canna 

bear  to  think  o'  them  wi'  ony  complaisance  ava.  But  bring 
me  my  kep — haste  ye  fast,  lassie  ! " 

Obediently  Winsome  went  to  her  grandmother's  bedroom 
and  drew  from  under  the  bed  the  "  mutch  "  box  lined  with 
pale  green  paper,  patterned  with  faded  pink  roses.  She  did 
not  smile  when  she  drew  it  out.  She  was  accustomed  to  her 
grandmother's  ways.  She  too  often  felt  the  cavalier  looking 
out  from  under  her  Puritan  teaching ;  for  the  wild  strain  of 
the  Gordon  blood  held  true  to  its  kind,  and  Winsome's 
grandmother  had  been  a  Gordon  at  Lochenkit,  whose  father 
had  ridden  with  Kenmure  in  the  great  rebellion. 

When  she  brought  the  white  goffered  mutch  with  its 
plaits  and  puckers,  granny  tried  it  on  in  various  ways,  Win- 
some meanwhile  holding  a  small  mirror  before  her. 

"  As  I  was  sayin',  I  renounced  thinkin'  aboot  the  vani- 
ties o'  youth  langsyne.  Aye,  it'll  be  forty  years  sin' — for  ye 
maun  mind  that  I  was  marriet  whan  but  a  lassie.  Aye  me, 
it's  forty-five  years  since  Ailie  Gordon,  as  I  was  then,  wed 
wi'  Walter  Skirving  o'  Craig  Ronald  (noo  o'  his  ain  cham- 
mer  neuk,  puir  man,  for  he'll  never  leave  it  mair),"  added 
she  with  a  brisk  kind  of  acknowledgment  towards  the  chair 
of  the  semi-paralytic  in  the  corner. 

There  silent  and  unregarding  Walter  Skirving  sat — a 
man  still  splendid  in  frame  and  build,  erect  in  his  chair,  a 


24  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

shawl  over  his  knees  even  in  this  day  of  fervent  heat,  look- 
ing out  dumbly  on  the  drowsing,  humming  world  of  broad, 
shadowless  noonshine,  and  often  also  on  the  equable  silences 
of  the  night. 

"  No  that  I  regret  it  the  day,  when  he  is  but  the  name 
o'  the  man  he  yince  was.  For  fifty  years  since  there  was 
nae  lad  like  Walter  Skirving  cam  into  Dumfries  High  Street 
frae  Stewartry  or  frae  Shire.  No  a  fit  in  buckled  shune  sae 
licht  as  his,  his  weel-shapit  leg  covered  wi'  the  bonny  '  rig- 
an'-fur '  stockin'  that  I  knitted  mysel'  frae  the  cast  on  o' 
the  ower-fauld  [over-fold]  to  the  bonny  white  forefit  that 
sets  aff  the  blue  sae  weel.  "Walter  Skirving  could  button  his 
knee-breeks  withoot  bendin'  his  back — that  nana  could  do 
but  the  king's  son  himsel' ;  an'  sic  a  dancer  as  he  was  afore 
guid  an'  godly  Maister  Cauldsowans  took  hand  o'  him  at 
the  tent,  wi'  preachin'  a  sermon  on  booin'  the  kiiee  to  Baal. 
Aye,  aye,  its  a'  awa' — an'  its  mony  the  year  I  thocht  on 
it,  let  alane  thocht  on  wantin'  back  thae  days  o'  vanity  an' 
the  pride  o'  sinfu'  youth  ! " 

"  Tell  me  about  the  officer  men,  granny,"  said  Winsome. 

"  'Deed  wull  I  no.  It  wad  be  mair  tellin'  ye  gin  ye  were 
learnin'  yer  Caritches"  [Westminster  Catechism]. 

"  But,  grandmammy  dear,  I  thought  that  you  said  that 
the  officer  men  ran  away  from  you " 

"  Hear  till  her  !  Rin  frae  me  ?  Certes,  ye're  no  blate. 
They  cam'  frae  far  an'  near  to  get  a  word  wi'  me.  Na,  there 
was  nae  rinnin'  frae  a  bonny  lass  in  thae  days.  Weel,  there 
was  three  o'  them ;  an'  they  cam'  ower  the  hill  to  see  the 
lasses,  graund  in  their  reed  breeks  slashed  wi'  yellow.  An' 
what  for  no,  they  war  his  Majesty's  troopers ;  an'  though 
nae  doot  they  had  been  on  the  wrang  side  o'  the  dyke,  they 
were  braw  chiels  for  a'  that !  " 

"  An'  they  cam'  to  see  you,  granny  ?  "  asked  Winsome, 
who  approved  of  the  subject. 


A   CAVALIER  PURITAN.  25 

"  What  else — but  they  got  an  unco  begimk  [cheat].  Ye 
see,  my  faither  had  bocht  an  awfu'  thrawn  young  bull  at 
the  Dumfries  fair,  an'  he  had  been  gaun  gilravagin'  aboot; 
an'  whaur  should  the  contrary  beast  betak'  himsel'  to  but 
into  the  Koman  camp  on  Craig  Konald  bank,  where  the 
big  ditch  used  to  be  ?  There  we  heard  him  routin'  for 
three  days  till  the  cotmen  fund  him  i'  the  hinderend, 
an'  poo'ed  him  oot  wi'  cart-rapes.  But  when  he  got  oot 
— certes,  but  he  was  a  wild  beast !  He  got  at  Jock  Hin- 
derlands  afore  he  could  climb  up  a  tree ;  an',  fegs,  he 
gaed  up  a  tree  withoot  clim'in',  I'se  warrant,  an'  there  he 
hung,  hanket  by  the  waistband  o'  his  breeks,  baa-haain' 
for  his  minnie  to  come  and  lift  him  doon,  an'  him  as 
muckle  a  clampersome  [awkward]  hobbledehoy  as  ever 
ye  saw ! 

"  Then  what  did  Carlaverock  Jock  do  but  set  his  held 
to  a  yett  [gate]  and  ding  it  in  flinders ;  fair  fire-wood  he 
made  o't ;  an'  sae,  rampagin'  into  the  meadow  across  whilk," 
continued  the  old  lady,  with  a  rising  delight  in  her  eye, 
"  the  three  cavalry  men  were  comin'  to  see  me,  wi'  the 
spurs  on  them  jangling  clear.  Eeed  breeks  did  na  suit 
Jock's  taste  at  the  best  o'  times,  and  he  had  no  been  brocht 
up  to  countenance  yellow  facin's.  So  the  three  braw  King 
George's  sodgcrs  that  had  dune  sic  graund  things  at  Water- 
loo took  the  quickest  road  through  the  meadow.  Captain 
St.  Clair,  he  trippit  on  his  sword,  an'  was  understood  to  cry 
oot  that  he  had  never  eaten  beef  in  his  life.  Ensign  Wither- 
shins  threw  his  shako  ower  his  shoother  and  jumpit  iutil 
the  water,  whaur  he  expressed  his  opinion  o'  Carlaverock 
Jock  stan'in'  up  to  his  neck  in  Luckie  Mowatt's  pool — the 
words  I  dinna  juist  call  to  mind  at  this  present  time,  which, 
indeed,  is  maybe  as  weel ;  but  it  was  Lieutenant  Licht- 
body,  o'  his  Majesty's  Heavy  Dragoons,  that  cam'  afT  at 
the  waurst.      He  made  for  the  stane  dyke,  the  sven-fite 


26  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

marcli  dyke  that  rins  up  the  hill,  ye  ken.  Weel,  he  made 
as  if  he  wad  mak'  ower  it,  but  Boreland's  big  Heelaut  bull 
had  heard  the  routin'  o'  his  friend  Carlaverock  Jock,  an' 
was  there  wi'  his  horns  sj^read  like  a  man  keppin'  yowes 
[catching  sheep].  Aye,  my  certes ! "  here  the  old  lady 
paused,  overcome  by  the  humour  of  her  recollections,  laugh- 
ing in  her  glee  a  delightfully  catching  and  mellow  laugh, 
in  which  Winsome  joined. 

"  Sae  there  was  my  braw  beau,  Lieutenant  Lichtbody, 
sittin'  on  his  hunkers  on  the  dyke  tap  giruin'  at  Carlaver- 
ock Jock  an'  the  Boreland  Hielantman  on  baith  sides  o' 
him,  an'  tryin'  tae  hit  them  ower  the  nose  wi'  the  scabbard 
o'  his  sword,  for  the  whinger  itsel'  had  drappit  oot  in  what 
ye  micht  ca'  the  forced  retreat.  It  was  bonny,  bonny  to 
see ;  an'  whan  the  three  cam'  up  the  loanin'  the  neist  day, 
'  Sirs,'  I  said,  '  I'm  thinkin'  ye  had  better  be  gaun.  I  saw 
Carlaverock  Jock  the  noo,  fair  tearin'  up  the  greensward. 
It  wudua  be  bonny  gin  his  Majesty's  officers  had  twice  to 
mak'  sae  rapid  a  march  to  the  rear — an'  you.  Lieutenant 
Lichtbody,  canna  hae  a'thegither  gotten  the  better  o'  yer 
lang  sederunt  on  the  tap  o'  the  hill  dyke.  It's  a  bonny 
view  that  ye  had.  It  was  a  peety  that  ye  had  forgotten  yer 
perspective  glasses.' 

"  And  wad  ye  believe  it,  lassie,  the  threesome  turned  on 
the  braid  o'  their  fit  an'  marched  doon  the  road  withoot  as 
muckle  as  Fair-guid-e'en  or  Fair-guid-day ! " 

"And  what  said  ye,  grannie  dear?"  said  Winsome,  who 
sat  on  a  low  seat  looking  up  at  her  granny. 

"  0  lassie,  I  juist  set  my  braid  hat  ower  my  lug  wi'  the 
bonny  white  cockade  intil  't  an'  gied  them  '  The  Wee,  Wee 
German  Laird ie '  as  they  gaed  doon  the  road,  an'  syne  on 
the  back  o't : 

" '  Awa,  Whigs,  awa' ! 
Ye're  but  a  jiack ' " 


A   CAVALIER  PURITAN.  27 

But  the  great  23laid-swathed  figure  of  Winsome's  grand- 
father turned  a,t  the  words  of  the  long-forgotten  song  as 
though  waking  from  a  deep  sleep.  A  slumberous  fire  gleamed 
momentarily  in  his  eye. 

"  Woman,"  he  said,  "  hold  your  peace ;  let  not  these  words 
be  heard  in  the  house  of  Walter  Skirving ! " 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  the  fire  faded  out  of  his 
eyes  dead  as  black  ashes ;  he  turned  to  the  window,  and  lost 
himself  again  in  meditation,  looking  with  steady  eyes  across 
the  ocean  of  sunshine  which  flooded  the  valley  beneath. 

His  wife  gave  him  no  answer.  She  seemed  scarce  to 
have  heard  the  interruption.  But  Winsome  went  across 
and  pulled  the  heavy  plaid  gently  off  her  grandfather's 
shoulder.  Then  she  stood  quietly  by  him  with  one  hand 
upon  his  head  and  with  the  other  she  gently  stroked  his 
brow.  A  milder  light  grew  in  his  dull  eye,  and  he  put  up 
his  hand  uncertainly  as  if  to  take  hers. 

"  But  what  for  should  I  be  takin'  delicht  in  speakin'  o' 
thae  auld  unsanctified  regardless  days,"  said  her  grand- 
mother, "  that  'tis  raony  a  year  since  I  hae  ta'en  ony  pleesure 
in  thiukin'  on?  Gae  wa',  ye  hempie  that  ye  are  ! "  she  cried, 
turning  with  a  sudden  and  uncalled-for  sparkle  of  temper  on 
her  granddaughter ;  "  There's  nae  time  an'  little  inclination 
in  this  hoose  for  yer  flichty  conversation.  I  wonder  muckle 
that  yer  thouchts  are  sae  set  on  the  vanities  o'  young  men. 
And  such  are  all  that  delight  in  them."  She  went  on  some- 
what irrelevantly,  "  Did  not  godly  Maister  Cauldsowans 
redd  up  [settle]  the  doom  o'  such — '  all  desirable  young 
men  riding  upon  horses '  " 

"  An'  I'll  gae  redd  up  the  dairy,  an'  kirn  the  butter, 
grannie  ! "  said  Winsome  Charteris,  breaking  in  on  the  flow 
of  her  grandmother's  reproaches. 


28  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER  V. 

A    LESSON   IN"   BOTANY. 

No  lassie  in  all  the  hill  country  went  forth  more  heart- 
whole  into  the  June  morning  than  Winsome  Charteris. 
She  was  not,  indeed,  wholly  a  girl  of  the  south  uplands. 
Her  grandmother  was  never  done  reminding  her  of  her 
"  Englishy  "  ways,  which,  according  to  that  authority,  she 
had  contracted  during  those  early  years  she  had  sj)ent  in 
Cumberland.  From  thence  she  had  been  brought  to  the 
farm  town  of  Craig  Ronald,  soon  after  the  death  of  her  only 
uncle,  Adam  Skirving — whose  death,  coming  after  the  loss 
of  her  own  mother,  had  taken  such  an  effect  upon  her 
grandfather  that  for  years  he  had  seldom  spoken,  and  now 
took  little  interest  in  the  ongoings  of  the  farm. 

Walter  Skirving  was  one  of  a  class  far  commoner  iu 
Gralloway  sixty  years  ago  than  now.  He  was  a  "  bonnet 
laird  "  of  the  best  type,  and  his  farm,  which  included  all 
kinds  of  soil — arable  and  pasture,  meadow  and  moor,  hill 
pasture  and  wood — was  of  the  value  of  about  £300  a  year,  a 
sum  sufficient  iu  those  days  to  make  him  a  man  of  substance 
and  consideration  in  the  country. 

He  had  been  all  his  life,  except  for  a  single  year  in  his 
youth  when  he  broke  bounds,  a  Marrow  man  of  the  strictest 
type ;  and  it  had  been  the  wonder  and  puzzle  of  his  life  (to 
others,  not  to  himself)  how  he  came  to  make  up  to  Ailie 
Gordon,  the  daughter  of  the  old  moss-trooping  Lochenkit 
Gordons,  that  had  ridden  with  the  laird  of  Redgauntlet  in 
the  killing  time,  and  more  recently  had  been  out  with  Max- 
well of  Nithsdale,  and  Gordon  of  Kenmure,  to  strike  a  blow 
for  the  "  King-over-the- Water."  And  to  this  very  day, 
though  touched  with  a  stroke  which  prevented  her   from 


A   LESSON   IN   BOTANY.  29 

moving  far  out  of  her  chair,  Ailie  Skirving  showed  the  good 
blood  and  high-hearted  lightsomeness  that  had  won  the 
young  laird  of  Craig  Eonald  upon  tlie  Loch  Grannoch  side 
nearly  fifty  years  before. 

It  was  far  more  of  a  wonder  how  Ailie  Gordon  came  to 
take  Walter  Skirving.  It  may  be  that  she  felt  in  her  heart 
the  accent  of  a  true  man  in  the  unbending,  nonjuring  elder 
of  the  Marrow  kirk.  Two  great  heart-breaks  had  crossed 
their  lives  :  the  shadow  of  the  life  story  of  Winsome's  moth- 
er, that  earlier  Winsome  whose  name  had  not  been  heard 
for  twenty  years  in  the  house  of  Craig  Eonald ;  and  the 
more  recent  death  of  Adam,  the  strong,  silent,  chivalrous- 
natured  son  who  had  sixteen  years  ago  been  killed,  falling 
from  his  horse  as  he  rode  home  alone  one  winter's  night 
from  Dumfries. 

It  was  a  natural  thing  to  be  in  love  with  Winsome  Char- 
teris.  It  seemed  natural  to  Winsome  herself.  Ever  since 
she  was  a  little  lass  running  to  school  in  Keswick,  with  a 
touse  of  lint-white  locks  blowing  out  in  the  gusts  that  came 
swirling  off  Skiddaw,  Winsome  had  always  been  conscious 
of  a  train  of  admirers.  The  boys  liked  to  carry  her  books, 
and  were  not  so  ashamed  to  walk  home  with  her,  as  even  at 
six  years  of  age  young  Cumbrians  are  wont  to  be  in  the 
company  of  maids.  Since  she  came  to  Galloway,  and  opened 
out  with  each  succeeding  year,  like  the  bud  of  a  moss  rose 
growing  in  a  moist  place,  Winsome  had  thought  no  more  of 
masculine  admiration  than  of  the  dull  cattle  that  "  goved  " 
[stared  stupidly]  upon  her  as  she  picked  her  deft  way 
among  the  stalls  in  the  byre.  In  all  Craig  Ronald  there  was 
nothing  between  the  hill  and  the  best  room  that  did  not 
bear  the  mark  of  Winsome's  method  and  administrative  ca- 
pacity. In  perfect  dependence  upon  Winsome,  her  granny 
had  gradually  abandoned  all  the  management  of  the  house 
to  her,  so  that  at  twenty  that  young  woman  was  a  veritable 


30  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

Napoleon  of  finance  and  capacity.  Only  old  Richard  Clel- 
land  of  the  Borelaud,  grave  and  wise  pillar  of  the  kirk  by 
law  established,  still  transacted  her  market  business  and 
banked  her  siller — being,  as  he  often  said,  proud  to  act  as 
"  doer  "  for  so  fair  a  priucij^al.  So  it  happened  that  all  the 
reins  of  government  about  this  tiny  lairdship  of  one  farm 
were  in  the  strong  and  capable  hands  of  a  girl  of  twenty. 

And  Meg  Kissock  was  her  true  admirer  and  faithful 
slave — Winsome's  heavy  band,  too,  upon  occasion ;  for  all 
the  men  on  the  farm  stood  in  awe  of  Meg's  prowess,  and 
very  especially  of  Meg's  tongue.  So  also  the  work  fell 
mostly  upon  these  two,  and  in  less  measure  upon  a  sister  of 
Meg's,  Jess  Kissock,  lately  returned  from  England,  a  young 
lady  whom  we  have  already  met. 

During  the  night  and  morning  Winsome  had  studied 
with  some  attention  the  Hebrew  Bible,  in  which  the  name 
Allan  Welsh  appeared,  as  well  as  the  Latin  Luther  Com- 
mentary, and  the  Hebrew  Lexicon,  on  the  first  page  of 
which  the  name  of  Ealph  Peden  was  written  in  the  same 
neat  print  hand  as  in  the  note-book. 

This  was  the  second  day  of  the  blanket-washing,  and 
Winsome,  having  in  her  mind  a  presentiment  that  the  pro- 
prietor of  these  learned  quartos  would  appear  to  claim  his 
own,  carried  them  down  to  the  bridge,  where  Meg  and  her 
sister  were  already  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  frothing  tubs 
and  boiling  pots.  Winsome  from  the  broomy  ridge  could 
hear  the  shrill  "  giff-gaff  "  [give  and  take]  of  their  colloquy. 
She  sat  down  under  Ralph's  very  broom  bush,  and  absently 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  note-book,  catching  sentences 
here  and  there. 

"  I  wonder  how  old  he  is  ?  "  she  said,  meditatively ;  "  his 
coat-tails  looked  old,  but  the  legs  went  too  lively  for  an  old 

man ;  besides,  he  likes  maids  to  be  dressed  in  lilac "    She 

paused  still  more  thoughtfully.    "  Well,  we  shall  see."     She 


A   LESSON  IN  BOTANY.  31 

bent  over  and  pulled  the  milky-stalked,  wliite-seeded  head 
of  a  dandelion.  Taking  it  between  the  finger  and  thumb  of 
her  left  hand  she  looked  critically  at  it  as  though  it  were  a 
glass  of  wine.    "  He  is  tall,  and  he  is  fair,  and  his  age  is " 

Here  she  pouted  her  pretty  lips  and  blew, 

"  One — ha,  ha ! — he  was  an  active  infant  when  he  ran  from 
the  blanket-tramping — two,  three,  four " 

Some  tiny  feather-headed  spikelets  disengaged  them- 
selves unwillingly  from  the  round  and  venerable  down- 
polled  dandelion.  They  floated  lazily  up  between  the  tas- 
sels of  the  broom  upon  the  light  breeze. 

"  Five,  six,  seven,  eight — faith,  he  was  a  clean-heeled  lad- 
die yon.  Ye  couldna  see  his  legs  or  coat-tails  for  stour  as 
he  gaed  roon'  the  Far  Away  Turn." 

AVinsome  was  revelling  in  her  broad  Scots.  She  had 
learned  it  from  her  grandmother. 

"  Nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve,  thirteen,  fourteen,  fifteen — 
I'll  no  can  set  the  dogs  on  him  then — sixteen,  seventeen, 
eighteen — dear  me,  this  is  becoming  interesting." 

The  plumules  were  blowing  off  freely  now,  like  snow  from 
the  eaves  on  a  windy  day  in  winter. 

"  Nineteen,  twenty,  twenty-one — I  must  reverence  my 
elders.  If  I  don't  blow  stronger  he'll  turn  out  to  be  fi^fty — 
twenty-three,  twenty-f " 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  daintily-held  dandelion  and  lay 
a  blue  patch  on  the  grass.  Only  one  pale  grey  star  stood 
erect  on  the  stem,  the  vacant  green  sheathing  of  the  calyx 
turning  suddenly  down. 

'•'■  Tiomty-four r''  said  Ealph  Peden  quietly,  standing 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  an  eager  flush  on  his  check. 
The  last  plumule  floated  away. 

Winsome  Charteris  had  risen  instinctively,  and  stood 
looking  with  crimson  cheeks  and  quicker-coming  breath  at 
this  young  man  who  came  upon  her  in  the  nick  of  time. 


32  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

He  was  startled  and  a  little  indignant.  So  they  stood 
facing  one  another  while  one  might  count  a  score — silent 
and  drinking  each  the  other  in,  with  that  flashing  transfer- 
ence of  electric  sympathy  possible  only  to  the  young  and 
the  innocent. 

It  was  the  young  man  Avho  spoke  first.  Winsome  was  a 
little  indignant  that  he  should  dare  to  come  upon  her  while 
so  engaged.  Not,  of  course,  that  she  cared  for  a  moment 
what  he  thought  of  her,  but  he  ought  to  have  known  better 
than  to  have  stolen  upon  her  wliile  she  was  behaving  in 
such  a  ridiculous,  childish  way.  It  showed  what  he  was 
capable  of. 

"  My  name  is  Ealph  Peden,"  he  said  humbly.  "  I  came 
from  Edinburgh  the  day  before  yesterday.  I  am  staying 
with  Mr.  Welsh  at  the  manse." 

Winsome  Charteris  glanced  down  at  the  books  and 
blushed  still  more  deeply.  The  Hebrew  Bible  and  Lexicon 
lay  harmlessly  enough  on  the  grass,  and  the  Luther  was 
swinging  in  a  frivolous  and  untheological  way  on  the  strong, 
bent  twigs  of  broom.  But  where  was  the  note-book  ?  Like 
a  surge  of  Sol  way  tide  the  remembrance  came  over  her  that, 
when  she  had  plucked  the  dandelion  for  her  soothsaying, 
she  had  thrust  it  carelessly  into  the  bosom  of  her  lilac- 
sprigged  gown.  Indeed,  a  corner  of  it  peeped  out  at  this 
moment.  Had  he  seen  it? — monstrous  thought !  She  knew 
young  men  and  the  interpretations  that  they  put  upon  noth- 
ings !  This,  in  spite  of  his  solemn  looks  and  mantling  bash- 
fulness,  was  a  young  man. 

"  Then  I  suppose  these  are  yours,"  said  Winsome,  turn- 
ing sideways  towards  the  indicated  articles  so  as  to  conceal 
the  note-book.  The  young  man  removed  his  eyes  momen- 
tarily from  her  face  and  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  books. 
He  seemed  to  have  entirely  forgotten  what  it  was  that  had 
brought  him  to  Loch  Grannoch  bridge  so  early  this  June 


A  LESSON  IN   BOTANY.  33 

morning.  Winsome  took  advantage  of  his  glance  to  feel 
that  her  sunbonnet  sat  straight,  and  as  her  hand  was  on  its 
way  to  her  clustering  curls  she  took  this  oj^portunity  of 
thrusting  Ealph's  note-book  into  more  complete  conceal- 
ment. Then  her  hands  went  up  to  her  head  only  to  dis- 
cover that  her  sunbonnet  had  slipped  backward,  and  was 
now  hanging  down  her  back  by  the  strings. 

Ralph  Peden  looked  up  at  her,  apparently  entirely  satis- 
fied. What  was  a  note-book  to  him  now?  lie  saw  the  sun- 
bonnet resting  upon  the  wavy  distraction  of  the  pale  gold 
hair.  He  had  a  luxurious  eye  for  colour.  That  lilac  and 
gold  went  well  together,  was  his  thought. 

Trammelled  by  the  fallen  head-gear,  Winsome  threw  her 
head  back,  shaking  out  her  tresses  in  a  way  that  Ealph  Pe- 
den never  forgot.  Then  she  caught  at  the  strings  of  the 
errant  bonnet. 

"  Oh,  let  it  alone  !  "  he  suddenly  exclaimed. 

"  Sir  ?  "  said  Winsome  Charteris — interrogatively,  not 
imperatively.  Ralph  Peden,  who  had  taken  a  step  forward 
in  the  instancy  of  his  appeal,  came  to  himself  again  in  a 
moment. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  very  humbly,  "I  had  no 
right " 

He  paused,  uncertain  what  to  say. 

Winsome  Charteris  looked  up  quickly,  saw  the  simplici- 
ty of  the  young  man,  in  one  full  eye-blink  read  his  heart, 
then  dropped  her  eyes  again  and  said : 

"  But  I  thought  you  liked  lilac  sunbonnets  ! " 

Ralph  Peden  had  now  his  turn  to  blush.  Hardly  in  the 
secret  of  his  own  heart  had  he  said  this  thing.  Only  to 
Mr.  Welsh  had  his  forgetful  tongue  uttered  the  word  that 
was  in  his  mind,  and  which  had  covered  since  yesterday 
morn  all  the  precepts  of  that  most  superfluous  wise  woman, 
the  mother  of  King  Lemuel. 


34  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  Are  you  a  witch  ? "  asked  Ralph,  blundering  as  an 
honest  and  bashful  man  may  in  times  of  distress  into  the 
boldest  speech. 

"  You  want  to  go  up  and  see  my  grandmother,  do  you 
not?"  said  Winsome,  gravely,  for  such  conversation  was 
not  to  be  continued  on  any  conditions. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  perjuring  himself  with  a 
readiness  and  facility  most  unbecoming  in  a  student  desir- 
ing letters  of  probation  from  the  Protesting  and  Covenant- 
keeping  Kirk  of  the  Marrow. 

Ralph  Peden  lightly  picked  up  the  books,  which,  as 
Winsome  knew,  were  some  considerable  weight  to  carry. 

"  Do  you  find  them  quite  safe  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  There  was  a  heavy  dew  last  night,"  he  answered,  "  but 
in  spite  of  it  they  seem  quite  dry. 

"  We  often  notice  the  same  thing  on  Loch  Graunoch 
side,"  said  Winsome. 

"  I  thought — that  is,  I  was  under  the  impression — tliat 
I  had  left  a  small  book  with  some  manuscript  notes ! "  said 
the  young  man,  tentatively. 

"It  may  have  dropped  among  the  broom,"  replied  the 
simple  maid. 

Whereupon  the  two  set  to  seeking,  both  bareheaded, 
brown  cropped  head  and  golden  wilderness  of  tresses  not  far 
from  one  another,  while  the  "  book  of  manuscript  notes " 
rose  and  fell  to  the  quickened  heart-beating  of  that  wicked 
and  deceitful  girl,  Winsome  Charteris. 


CURLED  EYELASHES.  35 

CHAPTEE  VL 

CURLED    EYELASHES. 

Now  Meg  Kissock  could  stand  a  great  deal,  and  she 
would  put  up  with  a  great  deal  to  pleasure  her  mistress ; 
but  half  an  hour  of  loneliness  down  by  the  washing  was 
overly  much  for  her,  and  the  struggle  between  loyalty  and 
curiosity  ended,  after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  in  the  victory 
of  the  latter. 

As  Ealph  and  Winsome  continued  to  seek,  they  came 
time  and  again  close  together  and  the  propinquity  of 
flushed  cheek  and  mazy  ringlet  stirred  something  in  the 
lad's  heart  which  had  never  been  touched  by  the  Mistresses 
Thriepneuk,  who  lived  where  the  new  houses  of  the  Plain- 
stones  look  over  the  level  meadows  of  the  Borough  Muir. 
His  father  had  often  said  within  himself,  as  he  walked  the 
Edinburgh  streets  to  visit  some  sick  kirk  member,  as  he  had 
written  to  his  friend  Adam  Welsh,  "Has  the  lad  a  heart?" 
Had  he  seen  him  on  that  broomy  knowe  over  the  Grannoch 
water,  he  had  not  doubted,  though  he  might  well  have  been 
fearful  enough  of  that  heart's  too  sudden  awakening. 

Never  before  had  the  youth  come  within  that  delicate 
aura  of  charm  which  radiates  from  the  bursting  bud  of  the 
finest  womanhood.  Ealph  Peden  had  kept  his  affections 
ascetically  virgin.  His  nature's  finest  juices  had  gone  to 
feed  the  brain,  yet  all  the  time  his  heart  had  waited  expect- 
ant of  the  revealing  of  a  mystery.  Winsome  Charteris  had 
come  so  suddenly  into  his  life  that  the  universe  seemed  new- 
born in  a  day.  He  sprang  at  once  from  the  thought  of 
woman  as  only  an  unexplained  part  of  the  creation,  to  the 
conception  of  her  (meaning  thereby  Winsome  Charteris)  as 
an  angel  who  had  not  lost  her  first  estate. 


36  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

It  was  a  strange  thing  for  Ralph  Peden,  as  indeed  it  Is 
to  every  true  man,  to  come  for  the  first  time  within  the 
scope  of  the  unconscious  charms  of  a  good  girl.  There  is, 
indeed,  no  better  solvent  of  a  cold  nature,  no  better  antidote 
to  a  narrow  education,  no  better  bulwark  of  defence  against 
frittering  away  the  strength  and  solemnity  of  first  love, 
than  a  sudden,  strong  plunge  into  its  deep  waters. 

Like  timid  bathers,  who  run  a  little  way  into  the  tide 
and  then  run  out  again  with  ankles  wet,  fearful  of  the  first 
chill,  many  men  accustom  themselves  to  love  by  degrees. 
So  they  never  taste  the  sweetness  and  strength  of  it  as  did 
Kalph  Peden  in  these  days,  when,  never  having  looked  upon 
a  maid  with  the  level  summer  lightning  of  mutual  interest 
flashing  in  his  eyes,  he  plunged  into  love's  fathomless  mys- 
teries as  one  may  dive  upon  a  still  day  from  some  craggy 
platform  among  the  westernmost  isles  into  Atlantic  depths. 

Winsome's  light  summer  dress  touched  his  hand  and 
thrilled  the  lad  to  his  remotest  nerve  centres.  He  stood 
light-headed,  taking  in  as  only  they  twain  looked  over  the 
loch  with  far-away  eyes,  that  subtle  fragrance,  delicate  and 
free,  which  like  a  garment  clothed  the  maid  of  the  Gran- 
noch  lochside. 

"  The  water's  on  the  boil,"  cried  Meg  Kissock,  setting 
her  ruddy  shock  of  hair  and  blooming,  amplified,  buxom 
form  above  the  knoll,  wringing  at  the  same  time  the  suds 
from  her  hands,  "  an'  I  canna  lift  it  aff  mysel'." 

Her  mistress  looked  at  her  with  a  sudden  suspicion. 
Since  when  had  Meg  grown  so  feeble? 

"  We  had  better  go  down,  "  she  said  simply,  turning  to 
Ealph,  who  would  have  cheerfully  assented  had  she  sug- 
gested that  they  should  together  Avalk  into  the  loch  among 
the  lily  beds.  It  was  the  "  we  "  that  overcame  him.  His 
father  had  used  the  pronoun  in  quite  a  different  sense, 
"  We  will  take  the  twenty-ninth  chapter  of  second  Chroni- 


CURLED  EYELASUES.  37 

clcs  this  morning,  Ealph — what  do  we  understand  by  this 
peculiar  use  of  vav  conversive  ?  " 

But  it  was  quite  another  thing  when  Winsome  Charteris 
said  simply,  as  though  he  had  been  her  brother : 

"  We  had  better  go  down  ! " 

So  they  went  down,  taking  the  little  stile  at  which  Win- 
some had  meditated  over  the  remarks  of  Ralpli  Peden  con- 
cerning the  creation  of  Eve  upon  their  way.  Meg  Kissock 
led  the  van,  and  took  the  dyke  vigorously  without  troubling 
the  steps,  her  kirtle  fitting  her  for  such  exercises.  Winsome 
came  next,  and  Ealph  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass.  She 
sprang  up  the  low  steps  light  as  a  feather,  rested  her  finger- 
tips for  an  appreciable  fraction  of  a  second  on  the  hand 
which  he  instinctively  held  out,  and  was  over  before  he  real- 
ized that  anything  had  happened.  Yet  it  seemed  that  in 
that  contact,  light  as  a  rose-leaf  blown  by  the  winds  of  late 
July  against  his  cheek,  his  past  life  had  been  shorn  clean 
away  from  all  the  future  as  with  a  sharp  sword. 

Ralph  Peden  had  dutifully  kissed  his  cousins  Jemima, 
Kezia,  and  Kerenhappuch ;  but,  on  the  whole,  he  had  felt 
more  pleasure  when  he  had  partaken  of  the  excellent  ban- 
nocks prepared  for  him  by  the  fair  hands  of  Kerenhappuch 
herself.  But  this  was  wholly  a  new  thing.  His  breath 
came  suddenly  short.  He  breathed  rapidly  as  though  to 
give  his  lungs  more  air.  The  atmosphere  seemed  to  have 
grown  rarer  and  colder.  Indeed,  it  was  a  diiferent  world, 
and  the  blanket-washing  itself  was  transferred  to  some  de- 
liciously  homely  outlying  annex  of  paradise. 

Yet  it  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  tlie  world  that 
he  should  be  helping  this  girl,  and  he  went  forwai-d  with 
the  greatest  assurance  to  lift  the  black  pot  off  the  fire  for 
her.  The  keen,  acrid  swirls  of  wood-smoke  blew  into  his 
eyes,  and  the  rank  steam  of  yellow  home-made  soap,  manu- 
factured with  bracken  ash  for  lye,  rose  to  his  nostrils.    Now, 


38  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

Ralph  Peden  was  well  made  and  strong.  Spare  in  body  but 
accurately  compacted,  if  he  had  ever  struggled  with  any- 
thing more  formidable  than  the  folio  hide-bound  Calvins 
and  Turretins  on  his  father's  lower  shelf  in  James's  Court, 
he  had  been  no  mean  antagonist. 

But,  though  he  managed  with  a  great  effort  to  lift  the 
black  pot  otf  its  gypsy  tripod,  he  would  have  let  the  boiling 
contents  swing  dangerously  against  his  legs  had  not  Win- 
some caught  sharply  at  his  other  hand  and  leaned  over,  so 
balancing  the  weight  of  the  boiling  water.  So  they  walked 
down  the  path  to  where  the  tubs  stood  under  the  shade  of 
tlie  great  ash-trees,  with  their  sky-tossing,  dry-rustling 
leaves.  There  Ealph  set  his  burden  down.  Meg  Kissock 
had  been  watching  him  keenly.  She  saw  that  he  had  se- 
verely burned  his  hand,  and  also  that  he  said  nothing  what- 
ever about  it.  He  was  a  man.  This  gained  for  the  young 
man  Meg's  hearty  aj)proval  almost  as  much  as  his  bashful- 
ness  and  native  good  looks.  What  Meg  Kissock  did  not 
know  was  that  Ralph  was  altogether  unconscious  of  the 
wound  in  his  hand.  It  was  a  deeper  wound  which  was 
at  that  time  monopolising  his  thoughts.  But  this  little 
incident  was  more  than  a  thousand  certificates  in  the  eyes 
of  Meg  Kissock,  and  Meg's  friendship  was  decidedly  worth 
cultivating.  Even  for  its  own  sake  she  did  not  give  it 
lightly. 

Before  Winsome  Charteris  could  release  her  hand,  Ralph 
turned  and  said  : 

"  Do  you  know  you  have  not  yet  told  me  your  name?" 

Winsome  did  know  it  very  well,  but  she  only  said,  "  My 
name  is  Winsome  Charteris,  and  this  is  Meg  Kissock." 

"Winsome  Charteris,  Winsome  Charteris,"  said  Ralph's 
heart  over  and  over  again,  and  he  had  not  even  the  grace  to 
say  "  Thank  you  " ;  but  Meg  stepped  up  to  shake  him  by 
the  hand. 


CURLED  EYELASHES.  39 

"  I'm  braw  an'  prood  to  ken  yc,  sir,"  said  Meg.  "  That 
muckle  sumpli  [stupid],  Saunders  Mowdiewort,  telled  me  a' 
aboot  ye  comin'  an'  the  terrible  store  o'  lear  [learning]  ye 
hae.  He's  the  minister's  man,  ye  ken,  an'  howks  the  graves 
ower  by  at  the  parish  kirk-yard,  for  the  auld  betheral  there 
winna  gang  ablow  three  lit  deep,  and  them  that  haes  ill- 
tongued  wives  to  baud  doon  disna  want  ony  mistake " 

"  Meg,"  said  her  mistress,  "  do  not  forget  yourself." 

"  Deil  a  fear,"  said  Meg ;  "  it  was  auld  Sim  o'  Glower- 
ower-'em,  the  wizened  auld  hurcheon  [hedgehog],  that  set 
a  big  thruch  stane  ower  his  first  wife ;  and  when  he  buried 
his  second  in  the  neist  grave,  he  just  turned  the  broad  fiat 
stone.  '  Guid  be  thankit ! '  he  says,  '  I  had  the  forethocth 
to  order  a  stane  heavy  eneuch  to  baud  them  baith  doon  ! ' " 

"  Get  to  the  washing,  Meg,"  said  Winsome. 

"  Fegs  !  "  returned  Meg,  "  ye  waur  in  nae  great  hurry 
yersel'  doon  aff  the  broomy  knowe !  What's  a'  the  steer  sae 
sudden  like  ?  " 

Winsome  disdained  an  answer,  but  stood  to  her  own  tub, 
where  some  of  the  lighter  articles — pillow-slips,  and  fair 
sheets  of  "  seventeen-hundred "  linen  were  waiting  her 
daintier  hand. 

As  Winsome  and  Meg  washed,  Ralph  Peden  carried 
water,  learning  the  wondrous  science  of  carrying  two  cans 
over  a  wooden  hoop  ;  and  in  the  frankest  tutelage  Winsome 
put  her  hand  over  his  to  teach  him,  and  the  relation  of  mas- 
ter and  pupil  asserted  its  ancient  danger. 

It  had  not  happened  to  Winsome  Charteris  to  meet  any 
one  to  whom  she  was  attracted  with  such  frank  liking.  She 
had  never  known  what  it  was  to  have  a  brother,  and  she 
thought  that  this  clear-eyed  young  man  might  be  a  brother 
to  her.  It  is  a  fallacy  common  among  girls  that  young  men 
desire  them  as  sisters.  Ralph  himself  was  under  no  such 
illusion,  or  at  least  would  not  have  been,  liad  he  had  tlie 


4,0  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

firmness  of  mind  to  sit  down  half  a  mile  from  his  emotions 
and  coolly  look  them  over.  But  in  the  meanwhile  he  was 
only  conscious  of  a  great  and  rising  delight  in  his  heart. 

As  Winsome  Charteris  bent  above  the  wash-tub  he  was 
at  liberty  to  observe  how  the  blood  mantled  on  the  clear 
oval  of  her  cheek.  He  had  time  to  note — of  course  entirely 
as  a  philosopher — the  pale  purple  shadow  under  the  eyes, 
over  which  the  dark,  curling  lashes  came  down  like  the 
fringe  of  the  curtain  of  night. 

"  Why — I  wonder  why  ?  "  he  said,  and  stopped  aghast 
at  his  utterance  aloud  of  his  inmost  thought. 

"  What  do  you  wonder  ?  "  said  Winsome,  glancing  up  w4th 
a  frank  dewy  freshness  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  wonder  why — I  wonder  that  you  are  able  to  do  all 
this  work,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  to  turn  the  corner  of 
his  blunder. 

Winsome  shook  her  head. 

"  Now  you  are  trying  to  be  like  other  people,"  she  said  ; 
"  I  do  not  think  you  will  succeed.  That  was  not  what  you 
were  going  to  say.  If  you  are  to  be  my  friend,  you  must 
speak  all  the  truth  to  me  and  speak  it  always."  A  thing 
which,  indeed,  no  man  does  to  a  woman.  And,  besides, 
nobody  had- spoken  of  Ralph  Peden  being  a  friend  to  her. 
The  meaning  was  that  their  hearts  had  been  talking  while 
their  tongues  had  spoken  of  other  things ;  and  though 
there  was  no  thought  of  love  in  the  breast  of  Winsome 
Charteris,  already  in  the  intercourse  of  a  single  morning 
she  had  given  this  young  Edinburgh  student  of  divinity  a 
place  which  no  other  had  ever  attained  to.  Had  she  had  a 
brother,  she  thought,  what  would  he  not  have  been  to  her? 
She  felt  specially  fitted  to  have  a  brother.  It  did  not  occur 
to  her  to  ask  whether  she  would  have  carried  her  brother's 
college  note-book,  even  by  accident,  where  it  could  be  stirred 
by  the  beating  of  her  heart. 


CONCERNING  TAKING  EXERCISE.  41 

"  Well,"  Ealph  said  at  last,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  I  was 
wondering.  You  have  asked  me,  and  you  shall  know  :  I 
only  wondered  why  your  eyelashes  were  so  much  darker 
than  your  hair." 

Winsome  Charteris  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed. 

"  Ministers  should  occupy  their  minds  with  something 
else,"  she  said,  demurely.  "  What  would  Mr.  Welsh  say  ? 
I  am  sure  he  has  never  troubled  his  head  about  such  things. 
It  is  not  fitting,"  Winsome  said  severely. 

"  But  I  want  to  know,"  said  this  persistent  young  man, 
wondering  at  himself. 

"  Well,"  said  Winsome,  glancing  up  with  mischief  in 
her  eye,  "  I  suppose  because  I  am  a  very  lazy  sort  of  per- 
son, and  dark  window-blinds  keep  out  the  light." 

"  But  why  are  they  curled  up  at  the  end?  "  asked  un- 
blushingly  the  author  of  the  remarks  upon  Eve  formerly 
quoted. 

"  It  is  time  that  you  went  up  and  saw  my  grandmother !  " 
said  Winsome,  with  great  composure. 

"  Juist  what  I  was  on  the  point  o'  remarkin'  mysel' ! " 
said  Mes:  Kissock. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CONCERNING   TAKING    EXERCISE. 

Winsome  and  Ralph  walked  silently  and  composedly  side 
by  side  up  the  loaning  under  the  elder-trees,  over  the  brook  at 
the  watering-place  to  which  in  her  hoydenish  girlhood  Win- 
some had  often  ridden  the  horses  when  the  ploughmen 
loosed  Bell  and  Jess  from  the  plough.  In  these  days  she 
rode  without  a  side-saddle.  Sometimes  she  did  it  yet  when 
the  spring  gloamings  were  gathering  fast,  but  no  one  know 


42  TEE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

this  except  Jock  Forrest,  the  ploughman,  who  never  told 
any  more  than  he  could  help. 

Silence  deep  as  that  of  yesterday  wrapped  about  the 
farmhouse  of  Craig  Ronald.  The  hens  were  all  down  under 
the  lee  of  the  great  orchard  hedge,  chuckling  low  to  them- 
selves, and  nestling  with  their  feathers  spread  balloon-wise, 
while  they  flirted  the  hot  summer  dust  over  them.  Down 
where  the  grass  was  in  shadow  a  mower  was  sharpening 
his  blade.  The  clear  metallic  sound  of  the  "  strake "  or 
sharpening  strop,  covered  with  pure  white  Loch  Skerrow 
sand  set  in  grease,  which  scythemen  universally  use  in  Gal- 
loway, cut  through  the  slumberous  hum  of  the  noonday  air 
like  the  blade  itself  through  the  grass.  The  bees  in  the 
purple  flowers  beneath  the  window,  boomed  a  mellow  bass, 
and  the  grasshoppers  made  love  by  millions  in  the  couch 
grass,  chirring  in  a  thousand  fleeting  raptures. 

"  Wait  here  while  I  go  in,"  commanded  Winsome,  indi- 
cating a  chair  in  the  cool,  blue-flagged  kitchen,  which  Meg 
Kissock  had  marked  out  in  white,  with  whorls  and  crosses 
of  immemorial  antiquity — the  same  that  her  Pictish  fore- 
fathers had  cut  deep  in  the  hard  Silurian  rocks  of  the  south- 
ern uplands. 

It  was  a  little  while  before,  in  the  dusk  of  the  doorway 
Winsome  appeared,  looking  paler  and  fairer  and  more  in- 
finitely removed  from  him  than  before.  Instinctively  he 
wished  himself  out  with  her  again  on  the  broomy  knowe. 
He  seemed  somehow  nearer  to  her  there.  Yet  he  followed 
obediently  enough. 

Within  the  shadowed  "  ben  "-room  of  Craig  Ronald  all 
the  morning  this  oddly  assorted  pair  of  old  peojile  had  been 
sitting — as  indeed  every  morning  they  sat,  one  busily  read- 
ing and  often  looking  up  to  talk ;  while  the  other,  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house  himself,  sat  silent,  a  majestic  and  altogether 
pathetic  flgure,  looking  solemnly  out  with  wide-open,  dreamy 


CONCERNING  TAKING   EXERCISE.  43 

eyes,  waking  to  the  actual  world  of  speech  and  purposeful 
life  only  at  rare  intervals. 

But  Walter  Skirving  was  keenly  awake  when  Ealph 
Peden  entered.  It  was  in  fact  he,  and  not  his  jDartner,  who 
spoke  first — for  Walter  Skirving's  wife  had  among  other 
things  learned  when  to  be  silent — which  was,  when  she 
must. 

"  You  honour  my  hoose,"  he  said  ;  "  though  it  grieves 
me  indeed  that  I  canna  rise  to  receive  yin  o'  your  family  an' 
name  1  But  what  I  have  is  at  your  service,  for  it  was  your 
noble  faither  that  led  the  faithful  into  the  wilderness  on  the 
day  o'  the  Great  Apostasy  !  " 

The  young  man  shook  him  by  the  hand.  He  had  no 
bashfulness  here.  He  was  on  his  own  ground.  This  was 
the  very  accent  of  the  society  in  which  he  moved  in  Edin- 
burgh. 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said,  quietly  and  courteously,  step- 
ping back  at  once  into  the  student  of  divinity ;  "  I  have 
often  heard  my  father  speak  of  you.  You  were  the  elder 
from  the  south  who  stood  by  him  on  that  day.  He  has 
ever  retained  a  great  respect  for  you." 

"  It  ivas  a  great  day,"  Walter  Skirving  muttered,  letting 
his  arm  rest  on  the  little  square  deal  table  which  stood  be- 
side him  with  his  great  Bible  open  upon  it—"  a  great  day — 
aye,  Maister  Peden's  laddie  i'  my  hoose  !  He's  welcome,  he's 
mair  nor  welcome." 

So  saying,  he  turned  his  eyes  once  more  on  the  blue  mist 
that  filled  the  wide  Grannoch  Valley,  and  the  bees  hummed 
again  in  the  honey-scented  marshmallows  so  that  all  heard 
them. 

"  This  is  my  grandmother,"  said  Winsome,  who  stood 
quite  quiet  behind  her  chair,  swinging  the  sunbonnet  in  her 
hand.  From  her  flower-set  corner  the  old  lady  lield  out  her 
hand.     With  a  touch  of  his  father's  old-fashioned  courtesy 


44  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

he  stooped  and  kissed  it.  Winsome  instinctively  put  her 
hand  quickly  behind  her  as  though  he  had  kissed  that. 
Once  such  practices  have  a  beginning,  who  knows  where 
they  may  end  ?  She  had  not  expected  it  of  him,  though, 
curiously,  she  thought  no  worse  of  him  for  his  gallantry. 

But  the  lady  of  Craig  Ronald  was  obviously  greatly 
pleased. 

"  The  lad  has  gaid  bluid  in  him.  That's  the  minnie 
[mother]  o'  him,  nae  doot.  She  was  a  Gilchrist  o'  Linwood 
on  Nithsdale.  What  she  saw  in  your  faither  to  tak'  him  I 
dinna  ken  ouy  mair  than  I  ken  hoo  it  cam'  to  pas8  that  I 
am  the  mistress  o'  Walter  Skirving's  hoose  the  day. — Come 
cot  ahint  my  chair,  lassie ;  dinna  be  lauchin'  ahint  folks's 
backs.  D'ye  think  I'm  no  mistress  o'  my  ain  hoose  yet,  for 
a'  that  ye  are  sic  a  grand  hoosekeeper  wi'  your  way  o't." 

The  accusation  was  wholly  gratuitous.  Winsome  had 
been  grave  with  a  great  gravity.  But  she  came  obediently 
out,  and  seated  herself  on  a  low  stool  by  her  grandmother's 
side.  There  she  sat,  holding  her  hand,  and  leaning  her  elbow 
on  her  knee.  Ralph  thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  so 
lovely  in  his  life — an  observation  entirely  correct.  The  old 
lady  was  clad  in  a  dress  of  some  dark  stiff  material,  softer 
than  brocade,  which,  like  herself,  was  more  beautiful  in  its 
age  than  even  in  youth.  Folds  of  snowy  lawn  covered  her 
breast  and  fell  softly  about  her  neck,  fastened  there  by  a 
plain  black  pin.  Her  face  was  like  a  portrait  by  Henry 
Raeburn,  so  beautifully  venerable  and  sweet.  The  twinkle 
in  her  brown  eyes  alone  told  of  the  forceful  and  restless 
spirit  which  was  imprisoned  within.  She  had  been  reading 
a  new  volume  of  the  Great  Unknown  which  the  Lady  Eliza- 
beth had  sent  her  over  from  the  Big  House  of  Greatorix. 
She  had  laid  it  down  on  the  entry  of  the  young  man.  Now 
she  turned  sharp  upon  him. 

"  Let  me  look  at  ye,  Maister  Ralph  Peden.     Whaur  gat 


CONCERNING  TAKING   EXERCISE.  45 

ye  the  '  Ralph '  ?  That's  nae  westland  Whig  name.  Aye, 
aye,  I  mind — what's  comin'  o'  my  memory?  Yer  grand- 
faither  was  auld  Ralph  Gilchrist ;  but  ye  dinna  tak'  after 
the  Gilchrists — na,  na,  there  was  no  ane  o'  them  weel  faured 
— muckle  moo'd  [large-mouthed]  Gilchrists  they  ca'ed  them. 
It'll  be  your  faither  that  you  favour." 

And  she  turned  him  about  for  inspection  with  her  hand. 

"  Grandmother — "  began  Winsome,  anxious  lest  she 
should  say  something  to  offend  the  guest  of  the  house.  But 
the  lady  did  not  heed  her  gentle  monition. 

"  Was't  you  that  ran  awa'  frae  a  bonny  lass  yestreen  ?  " 
she  queried,  sudden  as  a  flash  of  summer  lightning. 

It  was  now  the  turn  of  both  the  younger  folk  to  blush. 
Winsome  reddened  with  vexation  at  the  thought  that  he 
should  think  that  she  had  seen  him  run  and  gone  about 
telling  of  it.  Ralph  grew  redder  and  redder,  and  remained 
speechless.     He  did  not  think  of  anything  at  all. 

"  I  am  fond  of  exercise,"  he  said  falteringly. 

The  gay  old  lady  rippled  into  a  delicious  silver  stream  of 
laughter,  a  little  thin,  but  charmingly  provocative.  Win- 
some did  not  join,  but  she  looked  np  imploringly  at  her 
grandmother,  leaning  her  head  back  till  her  tresses  swept 
the  ground. 

When  Mistress  Skirving  recovered  herself, 

"  Exerceese,  quo'  he,  heard  ye  ever  the  like  o'  that  ?  In 
their  young  days  lads  o'  speerit  took  their  exerceese  in  comin' 
to  see  a  bonny  lass — juist  as  I  was  sayin'  to  Winifred  yes- 
treen nae  faurer  gane.  Hoot  awa',  twa  young  folk  !  The 
simmer  days  are  no  lang.  Waes  me,  but  I  had  my  sliare  o' 
them !  Tak'  them  while  they  shine,  bankside  an'  burnside 
an'  the  bonny  heather.  Aince  they  bloomed  for  Ailie  Gor- 
don. Once  she  gaed  hand  in  hand  alang  the  braes,  where 
noo  she'll  gang  nae  mair.  Awa'  wi'  ye,  ye're  young  an'  hon- 
est.    Twa  auld  cankered  carles  are  no  fit  company  for  twa 


46  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

young  folks  like  yon.  Awa'  wi'  ye  ;  dinna  be  strange  wi'  his 
mither's  bairn,  say  I — an'  the  guid  man  hae's  spoken  for  the 
daddy  o'  him." 

Thus  was  Ealph  Peden  made  free  of  the  Big  Iloose  of 
Craig  Ronald. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    minister's    man    ARMS   FOR   CONQUEST. 

Saunders  Mowdiewort,  minister's  man  and  grave-dig- 
ger, was  going  a  sweethearting.  He  took  off  slowly  the 
leathern  "  breeks  "  of  his  craft,  sloughing  them  as  an  adder 
casts  his  skin.  They  collapsed  upon  the  floor  with  a  hide- 
ous suggestion  of  distorted  human  limbs,  as  Saunders  went 
about  his  further  preparations.  Saunders  was  a  great,  soft- 
bodied,  fair  man,  of  the  cliuby  flaxen  type  so  rare  in  Scot- 
land— the  type  which  looks  at  home  nowhere  but  along  the 
south  coast  of  England.  Saunders  was  about  thirty-five. 
He  was  a  widower  in  search  of  a  wife,  and  made  no  secret 
of  his  devotion  to  Margaret  Kissock,  the  "  lass  "  of  the  farm 
town  of  Craig  Ronald. 

Saunders  was  slow  of  speech  when  in  company,  and  bash- 
ful to  a  degree.  He  was  accustomed  to  make  up  his  mind 
what  he  would  say  before  venturing  within  the  range  of  the 
sharp  tongue  of  his  well-beloved — an  excellent  plan,  but  one 
which  requires  for  success  both  self-possession  and  a  good 
memory.  But  for  lack  of  these  Saunders  had  made  an  ex- 
cellent courtier. 

Saunders  made  his  toilet  in  the  little  stable  of  the 
manse  above  which  he  slept.  As  he  scrubbed  himself  he 
kept  up  a  constant  sibilant  hissing,  as  though  he  were  an 
equine  of  doubtful  steadiness  witli  whom  the  hostler  be- 


THE   MINISTER'S   MAN  ARMS  FOR  CONQUEST.       47 

hooved  to  be  careful.  First  he  carefully  removed  the  dirt 
down  to  a  kind  of  Plimsoll  load-line  midway  his  neck ; 
then  he  frothed  the  soap-suds  into  his  red  rectangular  ears, 
which  stood  out  like  speaking  trumpets ;  there  he  let  it 
remain.  Soap  is  for  putting  on  the  face,  grease  on  the 
hair.  It  is  folly  then  to  wash  either  off.  Besides  being 
wasteful.  His  flaxen  hair  stood  out  in  wet  strands  and 
clammy  tags  and  tails.  All  the  while  Saunders  kept  mut- 
tering to  himself : 

"  An'  says  I  to  her :  '  Meg  Kissock,  ye're  a  bonny  wom- 
an,' says  I.  '  My  certie,  but  ye  hae  e'en  like  spunkies  [will- 
o'-the-wisps]  or  maybes,"  said  Saunders  in  a  meditative  tone. 
"  I  had  better  say  '  like  whurlies  in  a  sky-licht.'  It  micht 
be  considered  mair  lovin'  like  ! " 

"  Then  she'll  up  an'  say :  '  Saunders,  ye  mak'  me  fair 
ashamed  to  listen  to  ye.    Be  mensefu'  [polite],  can  ye  no  ? '  " 

This  pleased  Saunders  so  much  that  he  slapped  his  thigh 
so  that  the  pony  started  and  clattered  to  the  other  side  of 
his  stall. 

"  Then  I'll  up  an'  tak'  her  roun'  the  waist,  an'  I'll  look 
at  her  like  this — "  (here  Saunders  practised  the  effect  of  his 
fascinations  in  the  glass,  a  panorama  which  was  to  some  ex- 
tent marred  by  the  necessary  opening  of  his  mouth  to  en- 
able the  razor  he  was  using  to  excavate  the  bristles  out  of 
the  professional  creases  in  his  lower  jaw.  Saunders  pulled 
down  his  mouth  to  express  extra  grief  when  a  five-foot 
grave  had  been  ordered.  His  seven-foot  manifestations  of 
respect  for  the  deceased  were  a  sight  to  see.  He  held  the 
opinion  that  anybody  that  had  no  more  '  conceit  0'  themsel' ' 
[were  so  much  left  to  themselves]  than  to  be  buried  in  a 
three-foot  grave,  did  not  deserve  to  be  mourned  at  all.  This 
crease,  then,  was  one  of  Saunders's  assets,  and  had  there- 
fore to  be  carefully  attended  to.  Even  love  must  not  in- 
terfere with  it. 


48  THE  LILAC  S'JNBONNET. 

"  Sae  after  that,  I  shall  tak'  her  roun'  the  waist,  juist 
like  this — "  said  he,  insinuating  his  left  arm  circumferen- 
tially.  It  was  an  ill-judged  movement,  for,  instead  of  cir- 
cling Meg  Kissock's  waist,  he  extended  his  arm  round  the 
off  hindleg  of  Birsie,  the  minister's  pony,  who  had  become 
a  trifle  short  tempered  in  his  old  age.  Now  it  was  upon 
that  very  leg  and  at  that  very  place  that,  earlier  in  the  day, 
a  large  buzzing  horse-fly  had  temporarily  settled.  Birsie 
was  in  no  condition,  therefore,  for  argument  upon  the  sub- 
ject. So  with  the  greatest  readiness  he  struck  straight  out 
behind  and  took  Saunders  what  he  himself  called  a  "  dinnle 
on  the  elbuck."  Nor  was  this  all,  for  the  razor  suddenly 
levered  upwards  by  Birsie's  hoof  added  another  and  entirely 
unprofessional  wrinkle  to  his  face. 

Saunders  uprose  in  wrath,  for  the  soap  was  stinging  furi- 
ously in  the  cut,  and  expostulated  with  Birsie  with  a  hand- 
ful of  reins  which  he  lifted  off  the  lid  of  the  corn-chest. 

"  Ye  ill-natured,  thrawn,  upsettin'  blastie,  ye  donnart 
auld  deevil !  "  he  cried. 

"  Alexander  Mowdiewort,  gin  ye  desire  to  use  minced 
oaths  and  braid  oaths  indiscriminately,  ye  shall  not  use 
them  in  my  stable.  Though  ye  be  but  a  mere  Erastian  and 
uncertain  in  yer  kirk  membership,  ye  are  at  least  an  occa- 
sional hearer,  whilk  is  better  than  naething,  at  the  kirk  o' 
the  Marrow ;  and  what  is  more  to  the  point,  ye  are  my  own 
hired  servant,  and  I  desire  that  ye  cease  from  makin'  use  o' 
any  such  expressions  upon  my  premises." 

"  Weel,  minister,"  said  Saunders,  penitently,  "  I  ken 
brawly  I'm  i'  the  wrang ;  but  ye  ken  yersel',  gin  ye  had  got- 
ten a  dinnle  i'  the  elbuck  that  garred  ye  loup  like  a  troot  i' 
Luckie  Mowatt's  pool,  or  gin  ye  had  cuttit  yersel'  wi'  yer 
ain  razor,  wad  '  Efiiectual  Callin','  think  ye,  hae  been  the 
first  word  i'  yer  mooth  ?    Noo,  minister,  fair  Hornie  !  " 

"  At  anv  rate,"  said  the  minister,  "  what  I  would  have 


THE   MINISTER'S  MAN   ARMS   FOR  CONQUEST.       49 

said  or  done  is  no  excuse  for  you,  as  ye  well  know.  But  how 
did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Weel,  sir,  ye  see  the  way  o't  was  this  :  I  was  thinkin' 
to  mysel', '  There's  twa  or  three  ways  o'  takin'  the  bulks  intil 
the  pulpit — There's  the  way  consequential — that's  Gilbert 
Prettiman  o'  the  Kirkland's  way.  Did  ever  ye  notice  the 
body  ?  He  bauds  the  Bibles  afore  him  as  if  he  war  Moses 
an'  Aaron  gaun  afore  Pharaoh,  wi'  the  coat-taillies  o'  him 
fleein'  oot  ahint,  an'  his  chin  pointin'  to  the  soon'in'-board 
o'  the  pulpit." 

"  Speak  respectfully  of  the  patriarchs,"  said  Mr.  Welsh 
sententiously.  Saunders  looked  at  him  with  some  wonder 
expressed  in  his  eyes. 

"  Far  be  it  f  rae  me,"  he  said,  "  to  speak  lichtly  o'  ony  ane 
o'  them  (though,  to  tell  the  truth,  some  o'  them  war  gye 
boys).  I  hae  been  ower  lang  connectit  wi'  them,  for  I  hae 
carriet  the  bulks  for  fifteen  year,  ever  since  my  faither  racket 
himsel'  howkin'  the  grave  o'  yer  predecessor,  honest  man, 
an'  I  hae  leeved  a'  my  days  juist  ower  the  wa'  frae  the  kirk." 

"  But  then  they  say,  Saunders,"  said  the  minister,  smil- 
ingly, " '  the  nearer  the  kirk  the  farther  frae  grace.'  " 

"  'Deed,  minister,"  said  Saunders,  "  Grace  Kissock  is  a 
nice  bit  lassie,  but  an'  Jess  will  be  no  that  ill  in  a  year  or 
twa,  but  o'  a'  the  Kissocks  commend  me  till  Meg.  She  wad 
mak'  a  graund  wife.     What  think  ye,  minister?" 

Mr.  Welsh  relaxed  his  habitual  severe  sadness  of  expres- 
sion and  laughed  a  little.  He  was  accustomed  to  the  sud- 
den jumps  which  his  man's  conversation  was  wont  to  take. 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  but  that  is  a  question  for  you,  Saun- 
ders.   It  is  not  I  that  think  of  marrying  her." 

"The  Lord  be  thankit  for  that!  for  gin  the  minister 
gaed  speerin',  what  chance  wad  there  be  for  the  betheral  ?  " 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  Meg  herself  yet  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Welsh. 


50  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  Na,"  said  Saunders ;  "  I  haena  that,  though  I  hae  made 
up  my  mind  to  hae  it  oot  wi'  her  this  verra  nicht — if  sae  it 
micht  be  that  ye  warna  needin'  me,  that  is — "  he  added, 
doubtfully,  "  but  I  hae  guid  reason  to  hope  that  Meg — " 

"  What  reason  have  you,  Saunders  ?  Has  Margaret  ex- 
pressed a  preference  for  you  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  Preference  !  "  said  Saunders ;  "  'deed  she  has  that, 
minister ;  a  maist  marked  preference.  It  was  only  the  last 
Tuesday  afore  Whussanday  [Whitsunday]  that  she  gied  me 
a  clour  [knock]  i'  the  lug  that  fair  dang  me  stupid.  Caa 
thatyenocht?" 

"  Well,  Saunders,"  said  the  minister,  going  out,  "  cer- 
tainly I  wish  you  good  speed  in  your  wooing ;  but  see  that 
you  fall  no  more  out  with  Birsie,  lest  you  be  more  bruised 
than  you  are  now  ;  and  for  the  rest,  learn  wisely  to  restrain 
your  unruly  member." 

"  Thank  ye,  minister,"  said  Saunders ;  "  I'll  do  my  best 
endeavours  to  obleege  ye.  Meg's  clours  are  to  be  borne  wi' 
a'  complaisancy,  but  Birsie's  dunts  are,  so  to  s^jeak,  gra- 
tuitous ! " 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

THE    ADVENT    OF   THE    CUIF. 

"Here's  theCuif!"  said  Meg  Kissock,  who  with  her 
company  gown  on,  and  her  face  glowing  from  a  brisk  wash, 
sat  knitting  a  stocking  in  the  rich  gloaming  light  at  the 
gable  end  of  the  house  of  Craig  Eonald.  Winsome  usually 
read  a  book,  sitting  by  the  window  which  looked  up  the 
long  green  croft  to  the  fir-woods  and  down  to  the  quiet 
levels  of  Loch  Grannoch,  on  which  the  evening  mist  was 
gathering  a  pale  translucent  blue.     It  was  a  common  thing 


THE   ADVENT   OP  THE   CUIP.  51 

for  Meg  and  Jessie  Kissock  to  bring  their  knitting  and 
darning  there,  and  on  their  milking-stools  sit  below  the 
window.  If  Winsome  were  in  a  mood  for  talk  she  did  not 
read  much,  but  listened  instead  to  the  brisk  chatter  of  tlie 
maids.  Sometimes  the  ploughmen,  Jock  Forrest  and  Ebie 
Farrish,  came  to  "  ca'  the  crack,"  and  it  was  Winsome's 
delight  on  these  occasions  to  listen  to  the  flashing  claymore 
of  Meg  Kissock's  rustic  wit.  Before  she  settled  down,  Meg 
had  taken  in  the  three  tall  candles  "  ben  the  hoose,"  where 
the  old  people  sat — Walter  Skirving,  as  ever,  silent  and  far 
away,  his  wife  deep  in  some  lively  book  lent  her  by  the 
Lady  Elizabeth  out  of  the  library  of  Greatorix  Castle. 

A  bank  of  wild  thyme  lay  just  beneath  Winsome's  win- 
dow, and  over  it  the  cows  were  feeding,  blowing  softly 
through  their  nostrils  among  the  grass  and  clover  till  the 
air  was  fragrant  with  their  balmy  breath. 

"  Guid  e'en  to  ye,  '  Cuif,' "  cried  Meg  Kissock  as  soon  as 
Saunders  Mowdiewort  came  within  earshot.  He  came  stol- 
idly forward  tramping  through  the  bog  with  his  boots  newly 
greased  with  what  remained  of  the  smooth  candle  "  dowp  " 
with  which  he  had  sleeked  his  flaxen  locks.  He  wore  a 
broad  blue  Kilmarnock  bonnet,  checked  red  and  white  in  a 
"dam-brod"  [draught-board]  pattern  round  the  edge,  and  a 
blue-buttoned  coat  with  broad  pearl  buttons.  It  may  be 
well  to  explain  that  there  is  a  latent  meaning,  apparent 
only  to  Galloway  folk  of  the  ancient  time,  in  the  word 
"cuif."  It  conveys  at  once  the  ideas  of  inefficiency  and 
folly,  of  simplicity  and  the  ignorance  of  it.  The  cuif  is  a 
feckless  person  of  the  male  sex,  who  is  a  recognized  butt 
for  a  whole  neighbourhood  to  sharpen  its  wits  upon. 

The  particular  cuif  so  addressed  by  Meg  came  slowly 
over  the  knoll. 

"  Guid  e'en  to  ye,"  ho  said,  with  his  best  visiting  man- 
ners. 


52  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  Can  ye  no  see  me  as  weel,  Saunders?  "  said  Jess,  archly, 
for  all  was  grist  that  came  to  her  mill. 

Saunders  rose  like  a  trout  to  the  fly. 

"  Ow  aye,  Jess,  lass,  I  saw  ye  brawly,  but  it  disna  do  to 
come  seekin'  twa  lasses  at  ae  time." 

"  Dinna  ye  be  thinkin'  to  put  awa'  Meg,  an'  then  come 
coortin'  me  !  "  said  Jess,  sharply. 

Saunders  was  hurt  for  the  moment  at  this  pointed  allu- 
sion both  to  his  profession  and  also  to  his  condition  as  a 
"  seekin' "  widower. 

"  Wha  seeks  you,  Jess,  'ill  be  sair  ill-aff ! "  he  replied 
very  briskly  for  a  cuif. 

The  sound  of  Meg's  voice  in  round  altercation  with  Jock 
Gordon,  the  privileged  "  natural "  or  innocent  fool  of  the 
parish,  interrupted  this  interchange  of  amenities,  which  was 
indeed  as  friendly  and  as  much  looked  for  between  lads  and 
lasses  as  the  ordinary  greeting  of  "  Weel,  hoo's  a'  wi'  ye  the 
nicht  ?  "  which  began  every  conversation  between  responsi- 
ble folks. 

"  Jock  Gordon,  ye  lazy  ne'er-do-weel,  ye  hinna  carried  in 
a  single  peat,  an'  it  comin'  on  for  parritch-time.  D'ye 
think  my  maister  can  let  the  like  o'  you  sorn  on  him,  week 
in,  Aveek  oot,  like  a  mawk  on  a  sheep's  hurdie?  Gae  wa' 
cot  o'  that,  lyin'  sumphin'  [sulking]  an'  sleepin'  i'  the  mid- 
dle o'  the  forenicht,  an'  carry  the  water  for  the  boiler  an' 
bring  in  the  peats  frae  the  stack." 

Tlien  there  arose  a  strange  elricht  quavering  voice — the 
voice  of  those  to  whom  has  not  been  granted  their  due  share 
of  wits.  Jock  Gordon  was  famed  all  over  the  country  for 
his  shrewd  replies  to  those  who  set  their  wits  in  contest  with 
his.  Jock  is  remembered  on  all  Deeside,  and  even  to  Niths- 
dale.  He  Avas  a  man  well  on  in  years  at  this  time,  certainly  not 
less  than  forty-five.  But  on  his  face  there  was  no  wrinkle 
set,  not  a  fleck  of  gray  upon  his  bonuetless  fox-red  shock  of 


THE  ADVENT  OF  THE  CUIP.  53 

hair,  weather-rusted  and  usually  stuck  full  of  feathers  and 
short  pieces  of  hay.  Jock  Gordon  was  permitted  to  wander 
as  a  privileged  visitor  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
south  hill  country.  He  paid  long  visits  to  Craig  Eonald, 
where  he  had  a  great  admiration  and  reverence  for  the 
young  mistress,  and  a  hearty  detestation  for  Meg  Kissock, 
who,  as  he  at  all  times  asserted,  "  was  the  warst  maister  to 
serve  atween  the  Cairnsmuirs." 

"  Eicht  weel  I'll  do  yer  biddin',  Meg  Kissock,"  he  an- 
swered in  his  shrill  falsetto, "  but  no  for  your  sake  or  the  sake 
o'  ony  belangin'  to  you.  But  there's  yae  bonny  doo  [dove], 
wi'  her  hair  like  gowd,  an'  a  fit  that  she  micht  set  on  Jock 
Gordon's  neck,  an'  it  wad  please  him  weel.  An'  said  she, 
'  Do  the  wark  Meg  Kissock  bids  ye,'  so  Jock  Gordon,  Lord 
o'  Kelton  Hill  an'  Earl  o'  Clairbrand,  will  perform  a'  yer 
wuU.  Otherwise  it's  no  in  any  dochter  o'  Hurkle-backit 
[bent-backed]  Kissock  to  gar  Jock  Gordon  move  haund 
or  fit." 

So  saying,  Jock  clattered  away  with  his  water-pails,  mut- 
tering to  himself. 

Meg  Kissock  came  out  again  to  sit  down  on  her  milking- 
stool  under  the  westward  window,  within  which  was  Win- 
some Charteris,  reading  her  book  unseen  by  the  last  glow 
of  the  red  west. 

Jess  and  Saunders  Mowdiewort  had  fallen  silent.  Jess 
had  said  her  say,  and  did  not  intend  to  exert  herself  to  en- 
tertain her  sister's  admirer.  Jess  was  said  to  look  not  un- 
kindly on  Ebie  Farrish,  the  younger  ploughman  who  had 
recently  come  to  Craig  Ronald  from  one  of  the  farms  at  the 
"  laigli "  end  of  the  parish.  Ebie  had  also,  it  was  said, 
with  better  authority,  a  hanging  eye  to  Jess,  who  had  the 
greater  reason  to  be  kind  to  him,  that  he  was  the  first  since 
her  return  from  England  who  had  escaped  the  more  bravura 
attractions  of  her  sister. 


54  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  Can  ye  no  find  a  seat  guid  eneuch  to  sit  doon  on, 
cuif  ?  "  inquired  Meg  with  quite  as  polite  an  intention  as 
though  she  had  said,  "  Be  so  kind  as  to  take  a  seat."  The 
cuif,  who  had  been  uneasily  balancing  himself  first  on  one 
foot  and  then  on  the  other,  and  apologetically  passing  his 
hand  over  the  sleek  side  of  his  head  which  was  not  covered 
by  the  bonnet,  replied  gratefully : 

"  'Deed  I  wull  that,  Meg,  since  ye  are  sae  pressin'." 

He  went  to  the  end  of  the  milk-house,  selected  a  small 
tub  used  for  washing  the  dishes  of  red  earthenware  and 
other  domestic  small  deer,  turned  it  upside  down,  and  seated 
himself  as  near  to  Meg  as  he  dared.  Then  he  tried  to  think 
what  it  was  he  had  intended  to  say  to  her,  but  the  words 
somehow  would  not  now  come  at  call.  Before  long  he 
hitched  his  seat  a  little  nearer,  as  though  his  present  posi- 
tion was  not  quite  comfortable. 

But  Meg  checked  him  sharply. 

"  Keep  yer  distance,  cuif,"  she  said ;  "  ye  smell  o'  the 
muils  "  [churchyard  earth]. 

"  Na,  na,  JMeg,  ye  ken  brawly  I  haena  been  howkin' 
[digging]  since  Setterday  fortnicht,  when  I  burriet  Tarn 
Eogerson's  wife's  guid-brither's  auntie,  that  leeved  grain- 
in'  an'  deein'  a'  her  life  wi'  the  rheumatics  an'  Avame 
disease,  an'  died  at  the  last  o'  eatin'  swine's  cheek  an' 
guid  Cheddar  cheese  thegither  at  Sandy  Mulquharchar's 
pig-killin'." 

"  Noo,  cuif,"  said  Meg,  with  an  accent  of  warning  in  her 
voice,  "  gin  ye  dinna  let  alane  deevin'  [deafening]  us  wi'  yer 
kirkyaird  clavers,  ye'll  no  sit  lang  on  my  byne  "  [tub]. 

From  the  end  of  the  peat-stack,  out  of  the  dark  hole 
made  by  the  excavation  of  last  winter's  stock  of  fuel,  came 
the  voice  of  Jock  Gordon,  singing  : 

"  The  deil  he  sat  on  the  high  lumtap, 
Ilech  Jiou',  black  an'  reeky  ! 


THE  ADVENT  OP  THE   CUIF.  55 

Gang  yer  ways  and  drink  yer  drap, 
Ye'll  need  it  a'  whan  ye  come  to  stap 
In  my  hole  sae  black  an'  reeky,  0  ! 
Ilech  how,  black  an'  reeky  ! 

"  Hieland  kilt  an'  Lawland  hose, 
Parritch-fed  an'  reared  on  brose, 
Ye'll  drink  nae  drap  whan  yc  come  tae  stap 
In  my  hole  sae  black  an'  reeky,  0  ! 
Ilech  how,  black  an'  reeky  ! " 

Meg  Kissock  and  her  sweetheart  stopped  to  listen. 
Saunders  Mowdiewort  smiled  an  unprofessional  smile  when 
he  heard  the  song  of  the  natural. 

"  That's  a  step  ayont  the  kirkyaird,  Meg,"  he  said.  "  Gin 
ye  hae  sic  objections  to  hear  aboot  honest  men  in  their  hon- 
est graves,  what  say  ye  to  that  elricht  craitur  scraichin'  aboot 
the  verra  deil  an'  his  hearth -stane  ?  " 

Certainly  it  sounded  more  than  a  trifle  uncanny  in  the 
gloaming,  coming  out  of  that  dark  place  where  even  in  the 
daytime  the  black  Galloway  rats  cheeped  and  scurried,  to 
hear  the  high,  quavering  voice  of  Jock  Gordon  singing  his 
unearthly  rhymes. 

By-and-bye  those  at  the  house  gable  could  see  that  the 
innocent  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  peat-stack  in  some 
elvish  freak,  and  sat  there  cracking  his  thumbs  and  singing 
with  all  his  might : 

"  Ilech  hnic,  black  an  reeky, 
In  my  hole  sae  black  an'  reeky,  0  !  " 

"  Come  doon  oot  o'  that  this  meenit,  Jock  Gordon,  yc 
gomeral ! "  cried  Meg,  shaking  her  fist  at  the  uncouth  shape 
twisting  and  singing  against  the  sunset  sky  like  one  de- 
mented. 

The  song  stopped,  and  Jock  Gordon  slowly  turned  his 
head  in  their  direction.     All  were  looking  towards  him,  ex- 


56  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

cept  Ebie  Farrish,  the  new  ploughman,  who  was  wondering 
what  Jess  Kissock  would  do  if  he  put  his  arm  around  her 
waist. 

"  What  said  ye  ?  "  Jock  asked  from  his  perch  on  the  top 
of  the  peat-stack. 

"  Hae  ye  fetched  in  the  peats  an'  the  water,  as  I  bade 
ye  ?  "  asked  Meg,  with  great  asperity  in  her  voice.  "  D'ye 
think  that  ye'll  win  aff  ony  the  easier  in  the  hinnerend,  by 
sittin'  up  there  like  yin  o'  his  ain  bairns,  takkin'  the  deil's 
name  in  vain  ?  " 

"  Gin  ye  dinna  tak'  tent  to  [care  of  J  yersel',  Meg  Kis- 
sock," retorted  Jock, "  wi'  yer  eternal  yammer  o' '  Peats,  Jock 
Gordon,  an'  '  Water,  Jock  Gordon,'  ye'll  maybes  find  yersel' 
whaur  Jock  Gordon'll  no  be  there  to  serve  ye  ;  but  the  111 
Auld  Boy'll  keep  ye  in  routh  o'  peats,  never  ye  fret,  Meg 
Kissock,  wi'  that  reed-heed  [red  head]  o'  yours  to  set  them 
a-lunt  [on  fire].  Faith  an'  ye  may  cry  'Water!  water!' 
till  ye  crack  yer  jaws,  but  nae  Jock  Gordon  there — na,  na 
— nae  Jock  Gordon  there.     Jock  kens  better." 

But  at  this  moment  there  was  a  prolonged  rumble,  and 
the  whole  party  sitting  by  the  gable  end  (the  "  gavel,"  as  it 
was  locally  expressed)  rose  to  their  feet  from  tub  and  hag- 
clog  and  milking-stool.  There  had  been  a  great  land-slip. 
The  whole  side  of  the  peat-stack  had  tumbled  bodily  into 
the  great  "  black  peat-hole  "  from  which  the  winter's  peats 
had  come,  and  which  was  a  favourite  lair  of  Jock's  own, 
being  ankle-deep  in  fragrant  dry  peat  "  coom  " — which  is, 
strange  to  say,  a  perfectly  clean  and  even  a  luxurious  bed- 
ding, far  to  be  preferred  as  a  couch  to  "  flock  "  or  its  kin- 
dred abominations. 

All  the  party  ran  forward  to  see  what  had  become  of 
Jock,  whose  song  had  come  to  so  swift  a  close. 

Out  of  the  black  mass  of  down-fallen  peat  there  came  a 
strange,  pleading  voice. 


THE  ADVENT  OF  THE  CUIF.  5Y 

"  0  guid  deil,  0  kind  deil,  dinna  yirk  awa'  puir  Jock  to 
that  ill  bit — puir  Jock,  that  never  yet  did  ye  ony  hairm,  but 
aye  wished  ye  weel !  Lat  me  alf  this  time,  braw  deil,  an'  I'll 
sing  nae  mair  ill  sangs  aboot  ye  !  " 

"  Save  us  !  "  exclaimed  Meg  Kissock,  "  the  craitur's  pray- 
in'  to  the  111  Body  himsel'." 

Ebbie  Farrish  began  to  clear  away  the  peat,  which  was, 
indeed,  no  difficult  task.  As  he  did  so,  the  voice  of  Jock 
Gordon  mounted  higher  and  higher  : 

"  0  mercy  me,  I  hear  them  clawin'  and  skrauchelin' ! 
Dinna  let  the  wee  yins  wi'  the  lang  riven  taes  and  the  nebs 
like  gleds  [beaks  like  kites]  get  baud  o'  me  !  I  wad  rayther 
hae  yersel',  Maister  o'  Sawtan,  for  ye  are  a  big  mensefu' 
deil.  Ouch  !  I'm  dune  for  noo,  althegither ;  he  haes  gotten 
puir  Jock !     Sirce  me,  I  smell  the  reekit  rags  o'  him  !  " 

But  it  was  only  Ebie  Farrish  that  had  him  by  the  roll 
of  ancient  cloth  which  served  as  a  collar  for  Jock's  coat. 
When  he  was  pulled  from  under  the  peats  and  set  upon  his 
feet,  he  gazed  around  with  a  bewildered  look. 

"  0  man,  Ebie  Farrish,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  If  I  didna 
think  ye  war  the  deil  himsel' — ye  see  what  it  is  to  be  misled 
by  ootward  appearances ! " 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter  at  the  expense  of  Ebie,  in 
which  Meg  thought  that  she  heard  an  answering  ripple 
from  within  Winsome's  room. 

"  Surely,  Jock,  ye  were  never  prayin'  to  the  deil  ?  "  asked 
Meg  from  the  window,  very  seriously.  "  Ye  ken  far  better 
than  that." 

"  An'  what  for  should  I  no  pray  to  the  deil  ?  lie's  a 
desperate  onsonsy  chiel  yon.  It's  as  weel  to  be  in  wi'  him 
as  oot  wi'  him  ony  day.  AVha'  kens  what's  afore  them,  or 
wha  they  may  be  behaudin'  to  afore  the  morrow's  morn?" 
answered  Jock  stoutly. 

"  But  d'ye  ken,"  said  John  Scott,  the  theological  herd, 


58  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

who  had  quietly  "  daundered  doon  "  as  he  said,  from  his  cot- 
house  up  on  the  hill,  where  his  bare-legged  bairns  played 
on  the  heather  and  short  grass  all  day,  to  set  his  shoulder 
against  the  gable  end  for  an  hour  with  the  rest. 

"  D'ye  ken  what  Maister  AVelsh  was  sayin'  was  the  new 
doctrine  amang  thae  New  Licht  Moderates — 'hireling  shep- 
herds,' he  ca'd  them  ?  Noo  I'm  no  on  mysel'  wi'  sae  muckle 
speakin'  aboot  the  deil.  But  the  minister  was  sayin'  that 
the  New  Moderates  threep  [assert]  that  there's  nae  deil  at  a'. 
He  dee'd  some  time  since  ! " 

"  Gae  wa'  wi'  ye,  John  Scott !  wha's  gaun  aboot  doin'  sae 
muckle  ill  then,  I  wad  like  to  ken?"  said  Meg  Kissock. 

"  Dinna  tell  me,"  said  Jock  Gordon,  "  that  the  puir 
deil's  deed,  and  that  we'll  hae  to  pit  up  wi'  Ebie  Farrish. 
Na,  na,  Jock's  maybe  daft,  but  he  kens  better  than  that ! " 

"  They  say,"  said  John  Scott,  pulling  meditatively  at  his 
cutty,  "  that  the  pooer  is  vested  noo  in  a  kind  o'  comy-tee 
[committee]  ! " 

"  I  dinna  baud  wi'  comy-tees  mysel',"  replied  Meg ;  "  it's 
juist  haein'  mony  maisters,  ilka  yin  mair  cankersome  and 
thrawn  than  anither  !  " 

"  Weel,  gin  this  news  be  true,  there's  a  heep  o'  f owk  in 
this  parish  should  be  mentioned  in  his  wull,"  said  Jock 
Gordon,  significantly.  "  They're  near  kin  till  him — forby  a 
heep  o'  bairns  that  he  has  i'  the  laich-side  o'  the  loch. 
They're  that  hard  there,  they'll  no  gie  a  puir  body  a  meal 
o'  meat  or  the  shelter  o'  a  barn." 

"  But,"  said  Ebie  Farrish,  who  had  been  thinking  that, 
after  all,  the  new  plan  might  have  its  conveniences,  "  gin 
there's  nae  deil  to  tempt,  there'll  be  nae  deil  to  punish," 

But  the  herd  was  a  staunch  ^larrow  man.  He  was  not 
led  away  by  any  human  criticism,  nor  yet  by  the  new 
theology. 

"  New  Licht  here,  New  Licht  there,"  he  said  ;  "  I  canna' 


THE  ADVENT   OP   TUE   CUIF.  59 

pairt  wi'  ma  deil.  Na,  na,  that's  ower  muckle  to  expecc  o' 
a  man  o'  my  age  !  " 

Having  thus  defined  his  theological  position,  witliout  a 
word  more  he  threw  his  soft  checked  plaid  of  Galloway- 
wool  over  his  shoulders,  and  fell  into  the  herd's  long  swing- 
ing heather  step,  mounting  the  steep  brae  up  to  his  cot  on 
the  hillside  as  easily  as  if  he  were  walking  along  a  level  road. 

There  was  a  long  silence;  then  a  ringing  sound,  sud- 
den and  sharp,  and  Ebie  Farrish  fell  inexplicably  from  the 
axe-chipped  hag-clog,  which  he  had  rolled  up  to  sit  upon. 
Ebie  had  been  wondering  for  more  than  an  hour  what  would 
happen  if  he  put  his  arm  round  Jess  Kissock's  waist.  He 
knew  now. 

Then,  after  a  little  Saunders  Mowdiewort,  who  was  not 
unmindful  of  his  prearranged  programme  nor  yet  oblivious 
of  the  flight  of  time,  saw  the  stars  come  out,  he  knew  that 
if  he  were  to  make  any  progress,  he  must  make  haste ;  so 
he  leaned  over  towards  his  sweetheart  and  whispered,  "  Meg, 
my  lass,  ye're  terrible  bonny." 

"  D'ye  think  ye  are  the  first  man  that  has  telled  me  that, 
cuif  ?  "  said  Meg,  with  point  and  emphasis. 

Jock  Forrest,  the  senior  ploughman — a  very  quiet,  sedate 
man  with  a  seldom  stirred  but  pretty  wit,  laughed  a  short 
laugh,  as  though  he  knew  something  about  that.  Again 
there  was  a  silence,  and  as  the  night  wind  began  to  draw 
southward  in  cool  gulps  of  air  off  the  hills.  Winsome  Char- 
teris's  window  was  softly  closed. 

"  Hae  ye  nocht  better  than  that  to  tell  us,  cuif?"  said 
Meg,  briskly,  "  nocht  fresh-like  ?  " 

"  Weel,"  said  Saunders  Mowdiewort,  groping  round  for 
a  subject  of  general  interest,  his  profession  and  his  af- 
fection being  alike  debarred,  "there's  that  young  Enbra' 
lad  that's  come  till  the  manse.     He's  a  queer  root,  him." 

"What's  queer  aboot  him?"  nsked  Meg,  in  a  semi-bcl- 


QQ  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

ligerent  manner.  A  young  man  who  had  burned  his  fingers 
for  her  mistress's  sake  must  not  be  lightly  spoken  of. 

"  Oh,  nocht  to  his  discredit  ava,  only  Manse  Bell  heard 
him  arguin'  wi'  the  minister  aboot  the  weemen-folk  the  day 
that  he  cam'.     He  canna'  bide  them,  she  says." 

"  He  has  but  puir  taste,"  said  Ebie  Farrish  ;  "  a  snod  bit 
lass  is  the  bonniest  work  o'  Natur'.     Noo  for  mysel' " 

"  D'ye  want  anither  ?  "  asked  Jess,  without  apparent 
connection. 

"  He'll  maybe  mend  o'  that  opeenion,  as  mony  a  wise 
man  has  dune  afore  him,"  said  Meg,  sententiously.  "  Gae 
on,  cuif ;  what  else  aboot  the  young  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  a  lad  o'  great  lear.  He  can  read  ony  lan- 
guage back  or  forrit,  up  or  doon,  as  easy  as  suppin'  sowens. 
He  can  speak  byordinar'  graund.  They  say  he'll  beat  the 
daddy  o'  him  for  preachin'  when  he's  leecensed.  He  rade 
Birsie  this  mornin'  too,  after  the  kickin'  randie  had  cuist 
me  aff  his  back  like  a  draff  sack." 

"  Then  what's  queer  aboot  him  ?  "  said  Jess. 

Meg  said  nothing.  She  felt  a  draft  of  air  suck  into 
Winsome's  room,  so  that  she  knew  that  the  subject  was  of 
such  interest  that  her  mistress  had  again  opened  her  win- 
dow. Meg  leaned  back  so  far  that  she  could  discern  a  glint 
of  yellow  hair  in  the  darkness. 

The  cuif  was  about  to  light  his  pipe.  Meg  stopped 
him. 

"  Nane  o'  yer  lichts  here,  cuif,"  she  said  ;  "  it's  time  ye 
were  thinkin'  aboot  gaun  ower  the  hill.  But  ye  haena'  tailed 
us  yet  what's  queer  aboot  the  lad." 

"  Weel,  woman,  he's  aye  write — writin',  whiles  on  sheets 
o'  paper,  and  whiles  on  bulks." 

"  There's  nocht  queer  aboot  that,"  says  Meg;  "so  does 
ilka  minister." 

"  But  Manse  Bell  gied  me  ane  o'  his  writings,  that  she 


THE  ADVENT   OP   THE   CUIP.  61 

had  gotten  aboot  his  bedroom  somewhere.     She  said  that 
the  wun'  had  blawn't  aff  his  table,  but  I  misdoot  her." 

"  Yer  ower  great  wi'  Manse  Bell  an'  the  like  o'  her,  for 
a  man  that  comes  to  see  me !  "  said  Meg,  who  was  a  very 
particular  young  woman  indeed. 

"  It  was  euttit  intil  lengths  like  the  metre  psalms,  but  it 
luikit  gye  an'  daft  like,  sae  I  didna'  read  it,"  said  the  cuif 
hastily.  "  Here  it's  to  ye,  Meg.  I  was  e'en  gaun  to  licht  my 
cutty  wi't."  Something  shone  gray-white  in  Saunders's  hand 
as  he  held  it  out  to  Meg.  It  passed  into  Meg's  j)alm,  and 
then  was  seen  no  more. 

The  session  at  the  house  end  was  breaking  up.  Jess 
had  vanished  silently.  Ebie  Farrish  was  not.  Jock  For- 
rest had  folded  his  tent  and  stolen  away.  Meg  and  Saun- 
ders were  left  alone.     It  was  his  supreme  opportunity. 

He  leaned  over  towards  his  sweetheart.  His  blue  bon- 
net had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  there  was  a  distinct  odour 
of  warm  candle-grease  in  the  air. 

"  Meg,"  he  said,  "  yer  niaist  amazin'  bonny,  an'  I'm  that 
fond  o'  ye  that  I  am  faain'  awa'  frae  my  meat !  0  Meg, 
woman,  I  think  o'  ye  i'  the  mornin'  afore  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
I  sair  misdoot !  Guid  forgie  me  !  I  find  mysel'  whiles  won- 
derin'  gin  I'll  see  ye  the  day  afore  I  can  gang  ower  in  my 
mind  the  graves  that's  to  howk,  or  gin  Birsie's  oats  are  dune. 
0  Meg,  Meg,  I'm  that  fell  fond  o'ye  that  I  gruppit  that 
thrawn  speldron  Birsie's  hint  leg  juist  i'  the  fervour  o' 
thiukin'  o'  ye." 

"  Hoo  muckle  hae  ye  i'  the  week  ?  "  said  Meg,  practically, 
to  bring  the  matter  to  a  point. 

"  A  pound  a  week,"  said  Saunders  Mowdiewort,  prompt- 
ly, who  though  a  cuif  was  a  business  man,  "an'  a  cottage 
o'  three  rooms  wi'  a  graun'  view  baith  back  an'  front ! " 

"Ow  aye,"  said  Meg,  sardonically,  "I  ken  yer  graund 
view.     It's  o'  yer  last  wife's  tombstane,  wi'  the  inscriptions 


62  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

the  length  o'  my  rami  aboot  Betty  Mowdiewort  au'  a'  her 
virtues,  that  Robert  Paterson  cuttit  till  ye  a  year  past  in 
Aprile.  Na,  na,  ye'll  no  get  me  to  leeve  a'  my  life  iookin' 
cot  on  that  ilk'  time  I  wash  my  dishes.  It  wad  mak'  yin  be 
wantin'  to  dee  afore  their  time  to  get  sic-like.  Gang  an' 
speer  [ask]  Manse  Bell.  She's  mair  nor  half  blind  onyway, 
an'  she's  fair  girnin'  fain  for  a  man,  she  micht  even  tak' 
you." 

With  these  cruel  words  Meg  lifted  her  milking-stool  and 
vanished  within.  The  cuif  sat  for  a  long  time  on  his  byne 
lost  in  thought.  Then  he  arose,  struck  his  flint  and  steel 
together,  and  stood  looking  at  the  tinder  burning  till  it 
went  out,  without  having  remembered  to  put  it  to  the  pijie 
which  he  held  in  his  other  hand.  After  the  last  sparks  ran 
every  way  and  flickered,  he  threw  the  glowing  red  embers 
on  the  ground,  kicked  the  pail  on  which  he  had  been  sit- 
ting as  solemnly  as  if  he  had  been  performing  a  duty  to  the 
end  of  the  yard,  and  then  stepped  stolidly  into  the  darkness. 

The  hag-clog  was  now  left  alone  against  the  wall  be- 
neath Winsome's  window,  within  which  there  was  now  the 
light  of  a  candle  and  a  waxing  and  waning  shadow  on  the 
blind  as  some  one  went  to  and  fro.  Then  there  Avas  a  sharp 
noise  as  of  one  clicking  in  the  "  steeple  "  or  brace  of  the 
front  door  (which  opened  in  two  halves),  and  then  the 
metallic  grit  of  the  key  in  the  lock,  for  Craig  Ronald  was 
a  big  house,  and  not  a  mere  farm  which  might  be  left  all 
night  with  unbarred  portals. 

Winsome  stepped  lightly  to  her  own  door,  which  opened 
"without  noise.  She  looked  out  and  said,  in  a  compromise 
between  a  coaxing  whisper  and  a  voice  of  soft  command : 

"  Meg,  I  want  ye."' 

Meg  Kissock  came  along  the  passage  with  the  healthy 
glow  of  the  night  air  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  candle  in  her 
hand.     She  seemed  as  if  she  would  pause  at  the  door,  but 


TIIK   ADVEXT   OF   THE   CUIP.  fi3 

Winsome  motioned  her  imjieriously  within.  So  Meg  came 
within,  and  Winsome  shut  to  the  door.  Then  she  simply 
held  out  her  hand,  at  which  Meg  gazed  as  silently. 

"  Meg  !  "  said  Winsome,  warningly. 

A  queer,  faint  smile  passed  momentarily  over  the  face  of 
Winsome's  handmaid,  as  though  she  had  been  long  trying 
to  solve  some  problem  and  had  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
found  the  answer.  Slowly  she  lifted  ujj  her  dark-green 
druggit  skirt,  and  out  of  a  pocket  of  enormous  size,  which 
was  swung  about  her  waist  like  a  captured  leviathan  heav- 
ing inanimate  on  a  ship's  cable,  she  extracted  a  sheet  of 
crumpled  paper. 

Winsome  took  it  without  a  word.  ITer  eye  said  "  Good- 
night "  to  Meg  as  plain  as  the  minister's  text. 

Meg  Kissock  waited  till  she  was  at  the  door,  and  then, 
just  as  she  was  making  her  silent  exit,  she  said  : 

"  Ye'll  tak'  as  guid  care  o't  as  the  ither  yin  ye  fand. 
Ye  can  pit  them  baith  thegither." 

Winsome  took  a  step  towards  her  as  if  with  some  pur- 
pose of  indignant  chastisement.  But  the  red  head  and 
twinkling  eyes  of  mischief  vanished,  and  Winsome  stood 
with  the  paper  in  her  hand.  Just  as  she  had  begun  to 
smooth  out  the  crinkles  produced  by  the  liands  of  Manse 
Bell  who  could  not  read  it,  Saunders  who  would  not,  and 
Meg  Kissock  who  had  not  time  to  read  it,  the  head  of  the 
last  named  was  once  more  projected  into  the  room,  looking 
round  the  edge  of  the  rose-papered  door. 

"  Ye'll  mak'  a  braw  mistress  o'  tlie  manse,  Mistress — 
Ralph — Peden  !  "  she  said,  nodding  her  head  after  each 
proper  name. 


64  THE  LTLAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE    LOVE-SONG    OF   THE    MAVIS. 

Winsome  stamped  her  little  foot  in  real  anger  now,  and 
crumpling  the  paper  in  her  hand  she  threw  it  indignantly 
on  the  floor.  She  was  about  to  say  something  to  Meg,  but 
that  erratic  and  privileged  domestic  was  in  her  own  room 
by  this  time  at  the  top  of  the  house,  with  the  door  barred. 

But  something  like  tears  stood  in  Winsome's  eyes.  She 
was  very  angry  indeed.  She  would  speak  to  Meg  in  the 
morning.  She  was  mistress  of  the  house,  and  not  to  be 
treated  as  a  child.  Meg  should  have  her  warning  to  leave 
at  the  term.  It  was  ridiculous  the  way  that  she  had  taken 
to  speaking  to  her  lately.  It  was  clear  that  she  had  been 
allowing  her  far  too  great  liberties.  It  did  not  occur  to 
Winsome  Charteris  that  Meg  had  been  accustomed  to  tease 
her  in  something  like  this  manner  about  every  man  under 
forty  who  had  come  to  Craig  Eonald  on  any  pretext  what- 
ever— from  young  Johnnie  Dusticoat,  the  son  of  the  whole- 
sale meal-miller  from  Dumfries,  to  Agnew  Greatorix,  eld- 
est son  of  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  who  came  over  from  the 
castle  with  books  for  her  grandmother  rather  oftener  than 
might  be  absolutely  necessary,  and  who,  though  a  papist, 
had  waited  for  Winsome  three  Sabbath  days  at  the  door  of 
the  Marrow  kirk,  a  building  which  he  had  never  previously 
entered  during  his  life. 

Winsome  went  indignant  to  bed.  It  was  altogether  too 
aggravating  that  Meg  should  take  on  so,  she  said  to  herself. 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  care  a  button,"  she  said  as  she 
turned  her  hot  cheek  upon  the  pillow  and  looked  towards 
the  pale  gray-blue  of  the  window-panes,  in  which  there  was 
already  the  promise  of  the  morning ;  though  yet  it  was 
hardly  midnight  of  the  short  midsummer  of  the  north. 


THE   LOVE-SONG  OF   THE   MAVIS.  05 

"  It  would  be  too  ridiculous  to  suppose  that  I  should  care 
for  anybody  whom  I  have  only  seen  twice.  Why,  it  was 
more  than  a  year  before  I  really  cai'ed  for  dear  old  grannie  ! 
Meg  might  know  better,  and  it  is  very  silly  of  her  to  say 
things  like  that.  I  shall  send  back  his  book  and  paper  to- 
morrow morning  by  Andrew  Kissock  when  he  goes  to 
school."     Still  even  aft^r  this  resolution  she  lay  sleepless. 

"  Now  I  will  go  to  sleep,"  said  Winsome,  resolutely  shut- 
ting her  eyes.  "  I  will  not  think  about  him  any  more." 
Which  was  assuredly  a  noble  and  fitting  resolve.  But  AVin- 
sonie  had  yet  to  discover  in  restless  nights  and  troubled 
morrows  that  sleep  and  thought  are  two  gifts  of  God  which 
do  not  come  or  go  at  man's  bidding.  In  her  silent  cham- 
ber there  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  hushed  yet  palpable  life. 
It  seemed  toWinsome  as  if  there  were  about  her  a  thousand 
little  whispering  voices.  Unseen  presences  flitted  every- 
where. She  could  hear  them  laughing  such  wicked,  mocking 
laughs.  They  were  clustering  round  the  crumpled  piece  of 
paper  in  the  corner.    Well,  it  might  lie  there  forever  for  her. 

"  I  would  not  read  it  even  if  it  were  light.  I  shall  send 
it  back  to  him  to-morrow  without  reading  it.  Very  likely  it 
is  a  Greek  exercise,  at  any  rate." 

Yet,  for  all  these  brave  sayings,  neither  sleep  nor  dawn 
had  come,  when,  clad  in  shadowy  white  and  the  more  mani- 
fest golden  glimmer  of  her  hair,  she  glided  to  the  window- 
seat,  and  drawing  a  great  knitted  shawl  about  her,  she  sat, 
a  slender  figure  enveloped  from  head  to  foot  in  sheeny 
Avhite.  The  shawl  imprisoned  the  pillow  tossed  masses  of 
her  rippling  hair,  throwing  them  forward  about  her  face, 
which,  in  the  half  liglit,  seemed  to  be  encircled  with  an 
aureole  of  pale  Florentine  gold. 

In  her  hand  Winsome  held  Ralph  Peden's  poem,  and  in 
spite  of  her  determination  not  to  read  it,  she  sat  waiting 
till  the  dawn  should  come.     It  might  be  something  of  great 


QQ  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

importance.  It  might  only  be  a  Greek  exercise.  It  was,  at 
all  events,  necessary  to  find  out,  in  order  that  she  might  send 
it  back. 

It  was  a  marvellous  dawning,  this  one  that  Winsome 
waited  for.  Dawn  is  the  secret  of  the  universe.  It  thrills 
us  somehow  with  a  far-off  prophecy  of  that  eternal  dawning 
when  the  God  That  Is  shall  reveal  himself — the  dawning 
which  shall  brighten  into  the  more  perfect  day. 

It  was  Just  the  slack  water — the  water-shed  of  the  night. 
So  clear  it  was  this  June  night  that  the  lingering  gold  be- 
hind the  western  ridge  of  tlie  Orchar  Hill,  where  the  sun 
went  down,  was  neither  brighter  nor  yet  darker  than  the 
faint  tinge  of  lucent  green,  like  the  colour  of  the  inner  curve 
of  the  sea-wave  just  as  it  bends  to  break,  which  had  begun 
to  glow  behind  the  fir  woods  to  the  east. 

The  birds  were  w^aking  sleepily.  Chaflfinches  began  their 
clear,  short,  natural  bursts  of  song.  "  Chnrr  /  "  said  the  last 
barn  owl  as  he  betook  himself  to  bed.  The  first  rook  sailed 
slowly  overhead  from  Hensol  wood.  He  was  seeking  the 
early  worm.  The  green  lake  in  the  east  was  spreading  and 
taking  a  roseate  tinge  just  where  it  touched  the  pines  on  the 
rugged  hillside. 

Beneath  Winsome's  window  a  blackbird  hopped  down 
upon  the  grass  and  took  a  tentative  dab  or  two  at  the  first 
slug  he  came  across ;  but  it  was  really  too  early  for  break- 
fast for  a  good  hour  yet,  so  he  flew  up  again  into  a  bush  and 
preened  his  feathers,  which  had  been  discomposed  by  the 
limited  accommodation  of  the  night.  Now  he  was  on  the 
topmost  twig,  and  Winsome  saw  him  against  the  crimson 
pool  which  was  fast  deepening  in  the  east. 

Suddenly  his  mellow  pipe  fluted  out  over  the  grove. 
Winsome  listened  as  she  had  never  listened  before.  Why 
had  it  become  so  strangely  sweet  to  listen  to  the  simple 
sounds?     Why  did  the  rich  Tyrian  dye  of  the  dawn  touch 


THE   LOVE-SONG   OF  THE   MAVIS.  f,7 

her  cheek  and  flush  the  flowering  floss  of  her  silken  hair  ? 
A  thrush  from  the  single  laurel  at  the  gate  told  her : 

"  There — there — there — "  he  sang, 
"  Can't  you  see,  caii't  you  see,  can't  you  see  it  ? 

Love  is  the  secret,  the  secret ! 
Could  you  hut  knotv  it,  did  you  hut  show  it  I 
Hear  me  !  hear  me  !  hear  me  ! 
Down  in  the  forest  I  loved  her  ! 
Sweet,  siveet,  sweet ! 
Would  you  hut  Listen, 
I  would  love  you  ! 
All  is  sweet  and  pure  and  good  ! 
Twilight  and  morning  dew, 

1  love  it,  I  love  it. 
Do  you,  do  you,  do  you  ?" 

This  was  the  thrush's  love-song.  Now  it  was  light  enough 
for  Winsome  to  read  hers  by  the  red  light  of  the  midsum- 
mer's dawn.     This  was  Ralph's  Greek  exercise  : 

"  Sweet  mouth,  red  lips,  broad  unwrinkled  brow. 
Sworn  troth,  woven  hands,  holy  marriage  vow, 
Unto  us  make  answer,  what  is  wanting  now  I 

Love,  love,  love,  the  whiteness  of  the  snow ; 

Love,  love,  love,  and  the  days  of  long  ago. 

"  Broad  lands,  bright  sun,  as  it  was  of  old  ; 
lied  wine,  loud  mirth,  gleaming  of  the  gold  ; 
Something  yet  a-wanting — how  shall  it  be  told  ? 

Love,  love,  love,  the  whiteness  of  the  snow  ; 

Love,  love,  love,  and  the  days  of  long  ago. 

"  Large  heart,  true  love,  service  void  of  sound, 
Life-trust,  death-trust,  here  on  Scottish  ground, 
As  in  olden  story,  surely  I  have  found — 

Love,  love,  love,  the  whiteness  of  tlie  snow ; 

Love,  love,  love,  and  the  days  of  long  ago." 

The  thrush  had  ceased  singing  while  Winsome  read.  It 
was  another  voice  which  she  heard — the  first  authentic  call 


QS  THE   LILAC  SUNBuXNET. 

of  the  springtime  for  her.  It  coursed  through  her  blood. 
It  quickened  her  pulse.  It  enlarged  the  pupil  of  her  eye 
till  the  clear  germander  blue  of  the  iris  grew  moist  and  dark. 
It  was  a  song  for  her  heart,  and  hers  alone.  She  felt  it, 
though  no  more  than  a  leaf  blown  to  her  by  chance  winds. 
It  might  have  been  written  for  any  other,  only  she  knew  that 
it  was  not.  Ealph  Peden  had  said  nothing.  The  poem  cer- 
tainly did  not  suggest  a  student  of  divinity  in  the  Kirk  of 
the  Marrow.  There  were  a  thousand  objections — a  thousand 
reasons — every  one  valid,  against  such  a  thing.  But  love 
that  laughs  at  locksmiths  is  equally  contemptuous  of  logic. 
It  was  hers,  hers,  and  hers  alone.  A  breath  from  Love's 
wing  as  he  passed  came  again  to  Winsome.  The  blackbird 
was  silent,  but  a  thrush  this  time  broke  in  with  his  jubilant 
love-song,  while  Winsome,  with  her  love-song  laid  against  a 
dewy  cheek,  paused  to  listen  with  a  beating  heart  and  a  new 
comprehension : 

"  Hear  /  hear  !  hear ! 
Dear  !  clear  !  dear  ! 
Far  away,  far  away,  far  away, 

I  saw  him  pass  this  way, 
Tirrieoo,  tirrieoo  !  so  tender  and  true, 

Chippiwee,  chippiivee,  oh,  try  him  and  see  ! 
Cheer  up  !  cheer  up  !  cheer  up  ! 

Jle'll  come  and  he'll  kiss  you. 

He'll  kiss  you  arid  kiss  you, 
And  Til  see  him  do  it,  do  it,  do  it  !  " 

"  Go  away,  you  wicked  bird  !  "  said  Winsome,  when  the 
master  singer  in  speckled  grey  came  to  this  part  of  his 
song.  So  saying,  she  threw,  with  such  exact  aim  that  it 
went  in  an  entirely  opposite  direction,  a  quaint,  pink  sea- 
shell  at  the  bird,  a  shell  which  had  been  given  her  by  a  lad 
who  was  going  away  again  to  sea  three  years  ago.  She  was 
glad  now,  when  she  thought  of  it,  that  she  had  kissed  him 


ANDREW  KISSOCK  GOES  TO  SCHOOL.  CD 

because  he  had  no  mother,  for  he  never  came  back  any 
more. 

"Keck,  keck!"  said  the  mavis  indignantly,  and  went 
away. 

Then  Winsome  hiy  down  on  her  white  bed  well  content, 
and  pillowed  her  cheek  on  a  crumpled  piece  of  paper. 


CHAPTER  XL 

ANDREW    KISSOCK    GOES   TO    SCHOOL. 

Love  is,  at  least  in  maidens'  hearts,  of  the  nature  of  an 
intermittent  fever.  The  tide  of  Solway  flows,  but  the  more 
rapid  his  flow  the  swifter  his  ebb.  The  higher  it  brings  the 
wrack  up  the  beach,  the  deeper,  six  hours  after,  are  laid  bare 
the  roots  of  the  seaweed  upon  the  shingle.  Now  Winsome 
Charteris,  however  her  heart  might  conspire  against  her 
peace,  was  not  at  all  the  girl  to  be  won  before  she  was 
asked.  Also  there  was  that  delicious  spirit  of  contrariness 
that  makes  a  woman  even  when  won,  by  no  means  seem 
won. 

Besides,  in  the  broad  daylight  of  common  day  she  was  less 
attuned  and  touched  to  earnest  issues  than  in  the  red  dawn. 
She  had  even  taken  the  poem  and  the  exercise  book  out 
of  the  sacred  enclosure,  where  they  had  been  hid  so  long. 
She  did  not  really  know  that  she  could  make  good  any 
claim  to  either.  Indeed,  she  was  well  aware  that  to  one  of 
them  at  least  she  had  no  claim  whatever.  Therefore  she 
had  placed  both  the  note-book  and  the  poem  within  the 
same  band  as  her  precious  housekeeping  account-book, 
which  she  reverenced  next  her  Bible — which  very  practi- 
cal proceeding  pleased  her,  and  quite  showed  that  she  was 


YO  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

above  all  foolish  sentiment.  Then  she  went  to  churn  for 
an  hour  and  a  half,  pouring  in  a  little  hot  water  critically 
from  time  to  time  in  order  to  make  the  butter  come.  This 
exercise  may  be  recommended  as  an  admirable  corrective  to 
foolish  flights  of  imagination.  There  is  something  concrete 
about  butter-making  which  counteracts  an  overplus  of  senti- 
ment— especially  when  the  butter  will  not  come.  And  hot 
water  may  be  overdone. 

Now  Winsome  Charteris  was  a  hard-hearted  young 
woman — a  fact  that  may  not  as  yet  have  appeared ;  at  least 
so  she  told  herself.  She  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
she  had  been  foolish  to  think  at  all  of  Ralph  Peden,  so  she 
resolved  to  put  him  at  once  and  altogether  out  of  her  mind, 
which,  as  every  one  knows,  is  quite  a  simple  matter.  Yet 
during  the  morning  she  went  three  times  into  her  little 
room  to  look  at  her  housekeeping  book,  which  by  accident 
lay  within  the  same  band  as  Ralph  Peden's  lost  manu- 
scripts. First,  she  wanted  to  see  how  much  she  got  for 
butter  at  Cairn  Edward  the  Monday  before  last ;  then  to 
discover  what  the  price  was  on  that  very  same  day  last  year. 
It  is  an  interesting  thing  to  follow  the  fluctuations  of  the 
produce  market,  especially  when  you  churn  the  butter  your- 
self. The  exact  quotation  of  documents  is  a  valuable  thing 
to  learn.  Nothing  is  so  likely  to  grow  upon  one  as  a  habit 
of  inaccuracy.  This  was  what  her  grandmother  was  always 
telling  her,  and  it  behooved  Winsome  to  improve.  Each 
time  as  she  strapped  the  documents  together  she  said,  "And 
these  go  back  to-day  by  Andra  Kissock  when  he  goes  to 
school."  Tlien  she  took  another  look,  in  order  to  assure 
herself  that  no  forgeries  had  been  introduced  within  the 
hand  while  she  was  churning  the  butter.  They  were  still 
quite  genuine. 

Winsome  went  out  to  relieve  Jess  Kissock  in  the  dairy, 
and  as  she  went  she  communed  with  herself :  "  It  is  rigrht 


ANDREW   KISSOCK  GOES   TO  SCHOOL.  71 

that  I  should  send  them  back.  The  verses  may  belong  to 
somebody  else — somebody  in  Edinburgh — and,  besides,  I 
know  them  by  heart." 

A  good  memory  is  a  fine  thing. 

The  Kissocks  lived  in  one  of  the  Craig  Ronald  cot- 
houses.  Their  father  had  in  his  time  been  one  of  the 
herds,  and  upon  his  death,  many  years  ago,  Walter  Skirving 
had  allowed  the  widow  and  children  to  remain  in  the  house 
in  which  Andrew  Kissock,  senior,  had  died.  Mistress  Kis- 
sock  was  a  large-boned,  soft-voiced  woman,  who  had  sup- 
plied what  dash  of  tenderness  there  was  in  her  daughters. 
She  had  reared  them  according  to  good  traditions,  but  as 
she  said,  when  all  her  brood  were  talking  at  the  same  time, 
she  alone  quietly  silent : 

"  The  Kissocks  tak'  efter  their  faither,  they're  great 
hands  to  talk — a'  bena  [except]  An'ra'." 

Andrew  was  her  youngest,  a  growing  lump  of  a  boy  of 
twelve,  who  was  exceeding  silent  in  the  house.  Every  day 
Andra  betook  himself  to  school,  along  the  side  of  Loch 
Grannoch,  by  the  path  which  looked  down  on  the  cloud- 
flecked  mirror  of  the  loch.  Some  days  he  got  there,  but 
very  occasionally. 

His  mother  had  got  him  ready  early  this  June  morning. 
He  had  brought  in  the  kye  for  Jess,  He  had  helped  Jock 
Gordon  to  carry  water  for  Meg's  kitchen  mysteries.  He 
had  listened  to  a  brisk  conversation  proceeding  from  the 
"  room  "  where  his  very  capable  sister  was  engaged  in  get- 
ting the  old  people  settled  for  the  day.  All  this  was  part 
of  the  ordinary  routine.  As  soon  as  the  whole  establish- 
ment knew  that  Walter  Skirving  was  again  at  the  window 
over  the  marshmallows,  and  his  wife  at  her  latest  book,  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction  went  up  and  the  wheels  of  the  day's 
work  revolved.  So  this  morning  it  came  time  for  Andra 
to  go  to  school  all  too  soon.     Andra  did  not  want  to  stay 


72  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

at  home  from  school,  but  it  was  against  the  boy's  princi- 
ple to  appear  glad  to  go  to  school,  so  Andra  made  it  a 
point  of  honour  to  make  a  feint  of  wanting  to  stay  every 
morning. 

"  Can  I  no  bide  an'  help  ye  wi'  the  butter-kirniu'  the 
day,  Jess?"  said  Andra,  rubbing  himself  briskly  all  over  as 
he  had  seen  the  ploughmen  do  with  their  horses,  AMien 
he  got  to  his  bare  red  legs  he  reared  and  kicked  out 
violently,  calling  out  at  the  same  time  : 

"  Wad  ye  then,  ye  tairger,  tuts — stan'  still  there,  ye 
kickin'  beast !  "  as  though  he  were  some  fiery  untamed  from 
the  desert. 

Jess  made  a  dart  at  him  with  a  wet  towel. 

"  Gang  oot  o'  my  back  kitchen  wi'  yer  nonsense  1 "  she 
said.  Andra  passaged  like  a  strongly  bitted  charger  to  the 
back  door,  and  there  ran  away  with  himself,  flourishing  in 
the  air  a  pair  of  very  dirty  heels.  Ebie  Farrish  was  em- 
ployed over  a  tin  basin  at  the  stable  door,  making  his  break- 
fast toilet,  which  he  always  undertook,  not  when  he  shook 
himself  out  of  bed  in  the  stable  loft  at  five  o'clock,  but  be- 
fore he  went  in  to  devour  Jess  with  his  eyes  and  his  por- 
ridge in  the  ordinary  way.  It  was  at  this  point  that  Andra 
Kissock,  that  prancing  Galloway  barb,  breaking  away  from 
all  restrictions,  charged  between  Ebie's  legs,  and  overset 
him  into  his  own  horse-trough.  The  yellow  soap  was  in 
Ebie's  eyes,  and  before  he  got  it  out  the  small  boy  was  far 
enough  away.  The  most  irritating  thing  was  that  from  the 
back  kitchen  came  peal  on  peal  of  laughter. 

"  It's  surely  fashionable  at  the  sea-bathin'  to  tak'  a  dook 
[swim]  in  the  stable-trough,  nae  less  ! " 

Ebie  gathered  himself  up  savagely.  His  temperature 
was  something  considerably  above  summer  heat,  yet  he 
dared  not  give  expression  to  his  feelings,  for  his  experiences 
in  former  courtships  had  led  him  to  the  conclusion  that  you 


ANDREW  KISSOCK  GOES  TO  SCHOOL.  73 

cannot  safely,  having  regard  to  average  family  prejndice, 
abuse  the  brothers  of  your  sweetheart.  After  marriage  the 
case  is  believed  to  be  different. 

Winsome  Charteris  stood  at  the  green  gate  which  led 
out  of  the  court-yard  into  the  croft,  as  Andra  was  making 
his  schoolward  exit.  She  had  a  parcel  for  him.  This  occa- 
sioned no  surprise,  nor  did  the  very  particular  directions  as 
to  delivery,  and  the  dire  threatenings  against  forgetfulness 
or  failure  in  the  least  dismay  Andra.  lie  was  entirely  ac- 
customed to  them.  From  his  earliest  years  he  had  heard 
nothing  else.  He  never  had  been  reckoned  as  a  "  sure 
hand,"  and  it  was  only  in  default  of  a  better  messenger  that 
Winsome  employed  him.  Then  these  directions  were  so 
explicit  that  there  did  not  appear  to  be  any  possibility  of 
mistake.  He  had  only  to  go  to  the  manse  and  leave  the 
parcel  for  Mr.  Ralph  Peden  without  a  message. 

So  Andrew  Kissock,  nothing  loath,  promised  faithfully. 
He  never  objected  to  promising;  that  was  easy.  He  car- 
ried the  small,  neatly  wrapped  parcel  in  his  hand,  walking 
most  sedately  so  long  as  Winsome's  eyes  were  upon  him. 
He  was  not  yet  old  enough  to  be  under  the  spell  of  the 
witchery  of  those  eyes ;  but  then  Winsome's  eye  controlled 
his  sister  Meg's  hand,  and  for  that  latter  organ  he  had  a 
most  profound  respect. 

Now  we  must  take  the  trouble  to  follow  in  some  detail 
the  course  of  this  small  boy  going  to  school,  for  though  it 
may  be  of  no  interest  in  itself  save  as  a  study  in  scientific 
procrastination,  a  good  deal  of  our  history  directly  depends 
upon  it. 

As  soon  as  Andrew  was  out  of  sight  he  pulled  his  leather 
satchel  round  so  that  he  could  open  it  with  ease,  and,  having 
taken  a  handful  of  broken  and  very  stale  crumbs  out  of  it  for 
immediate  use,  he  dropped  Winsome's  parcel  witliin.  There 
it  kept  company  with  a  tin  flask  of  milk  whioli  his  motlier 


Y4  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

filled  for  him  every  morning,  having  previously  scalded  it 
well  to  restore  its  freshness.  This  was  specially  carefully 
done  after  a  sad  occasion  upon  which  his  mother,  having 
poured  in  the  fine  milk  for  Andra's  dinner  fresh  from  Crum- 
mie  the  cow,  out  of  the  flask  mouth  there  crawled  a  number 
of  healthy  worms  which  that  enterprising  youth  had  col- 
lected from  various  quarters  which  it  is  best  not  to  specify. 
Not  that  Andra  objected  in  the  least.  Milk  was  a  good 
thing,  worms  were  good  things,  and  he  was  above  the  paltry 
superstition  that  one  good  thing  could  spoil  another.  He 
will  always  consider  to  his  dying  day  that  the  very  sound 
licking  which  his  mother  administered  to  him,  for  spoiling 
at  once  the  family  breakfast  and  his  own  dinner,  was  one  of 
the  most  uncalled-for  and  gratuitous,  which,  even  in  his 
wide  experience,  it  had  been  his  lot  to  recollect. 

So  Andra  took  his  way  to  school.  He  gambolled  along, 
smelling  and  rooting  among  the  ragged  robin  and  starwort 
in  the  hedges  like  an  unbroken  collie.  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
no  further  thought  of  school  or  message  crossed  his  mind 
from  the  moment  that  the  highest  white  steading  of  Craig 
Eonald  sank  out  of  view,  until  his  compulsory  return.  An- 
di'a  had  shut  out  from  his  view  so  commonplace  and  igno- 
minious facts  as  home  and  school. 

At  the  first  loaning  end,  where  the  road  to  the  Nether 
Orae  came  down  to  cross  the  bridge,  just  at  the  point  where 
the  Grannoch  lane  leaves  the  narrows  of  the  loch,  Andra 
betook  himself  to  the  side  of  the  road,  with  a  certain  affec- 
tation of  superabundant  secrecy. 

With  prodigious  exactness  he  examined  the  stones  at 
a  particular  part  of  the  dyke,  hunted  about  for  one  of  re- 
markable size  and  colour,  said  "Hist!  hist!"  in  a  mys- 
terious way,  and  ran  across  the  road  to  see  that  no  one  was 
coming. 

As  we  have  seen,  Andra  was  the  reader  of  the  family. 


ANDREW   KISSOCK  GOES  TO   SCHOOL.  75 

His  eldest  brother  hud  gone  to  America,  wliere  he  Wcas  work- 
ing in  New  York  as  a  joiner.  This  youth  was  in  the  habit 
of  sending  across  books  and  papers  describing  the  terrible 
encounters  with  Indians  in  the  Boone  country — the  "  dai'k 
and  bloody  land"  of  the  early  romancers.  Not  one  in  the 
family  looked  at  the  insides  of  these  relations  of  marvels 
except  Andra,  who,  when  he  read  the  story  of  the  Indian 
scout  trailing  the  murderers  of  his  squaw  across  a  continent 
in  order  to  annihilate  them  just  before  they  entered  New 
York  city,  felt  that  he  had  found  his  vocation — which  was 
to  be  at  least  an  Indian  scout,  if  indeed  it  was  too  late  for 
him  to  think  of  being  a  full-blooded  Indian. 

The  impressive  pantomime  at  the  bridge  was  in  order  to 
ascertain  whether  his  bosom  companion,  Dick  Little,  had 
passed  on  before  him.  He  knew,  as  soon  as  he  was  within  a 
hundred  yards  of  the  stone,  that  he  had  not  passed.  Indeed, 
he  could  see  him  at  that  very  moment  threading  his  way 
down  through  the  tangle  of  heather  and  bog  myrtle,  or,  as 
he  would  have  said,  "  gall  busses  opposite."  But  what  of 
that? — For  mighty  is  the  power  of  make-believe,  and  in 
Andra,  repressed  as  he  was  at  home,  there  was  concentrated 
the  very  energy  and  power  of  some  imaginative  ancestry.  He 
had  a  full  share  of  the  quality  which  ran  in  the  family,  and 
was  exceeded  only  by  his  brother  Jock  in  New  York,  who 
had  been  "  the  biggest  leer  in  the  country  side  "  before  he 
emigrated  to  a  land  where  at  that  time  this  quality  was  not 
specially  marked  among  so  many  wielders  of  the  long  bow. 
Jock,  in  his  letters,  used  to  frighten  his  mother  with  dark 
tales  of  his  hair-breadth  escapes  from  savages  and  despera- 
does on  the  frontier,  yet,  strangely  enough,  his  address  re- 
mained steadily  New  York. 

Now  it  is  not  often  that  a  Galloway  boy  takes  to  lying  ; 
but  when  he  does,  a  mere  Nithsdale  man  has  no  chance  with 
him,  still  less  a  man  from  the  simple-minded  levels  of  the 


76  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  Shire."*  But  Andra  Kissock  always  lied  from  the  highest 
motives.  He  elevated  the  saying  of  the  thing  that  was 
not  to  the  height  of  a  principle.  He  often  lied,  know- 
ing that  he  would  be  thrashed  for  it  —  even  though  he 
was  aware  that  he  would  be  rewarded  for  telling  the  truth. 
He  lied  because  he  would  not  demean  himself  to  tell  the 
truth. 

It  need  not  therefore  surprise  us  in  the  least  that  when 
Dick  Little  came  across  the  bridge  he  was  greeted  by  Andra 
Kissock  with  the  information  that  he  was  in  the  clutches 
of  The  Avenger  of  Blood,  who,  mounted  upon  a  mettle  steed 
with  remarkably  dirty  feet,  curveted  across  the  road  and  held 
the  pass.  He  was  required  to  give  up  a  "  soda  scone  or  his 
life."  The  bold  Dick,  who  had  caught  the  infection,  stoutly 
refused  to  yield  either.  His  life  was  dear  to  him,  but  a  soda 
scone  considerably  dearer.  He  had  ratlier  be  dead  than 
hungry. 

"  Then  die,  traitor ! "  said  Andra,  throwing  down  his  bag, 
all  forgetful  of  Winsome  Charteris's  precious  parcel  and  his 
promises  thereanent.  So  these  two  brave  champions  had  at 
one  another  with  most  surprising  valour. 

They  were  armed  with  wooden  swords  as  long  as  them- 
selves, which  they  manoeuvred  with  both  hands  in  a  marvel- 
lously savage  manner.  When  a  blow  did  happen  to  get 
home,  the  dust  flew  out  of  their  jackets.  But  still  the 
champions  fought  on.  They  were  in  the  act  of  finishing 
the  quarrel  by  the  submission  of  Dick  in  due  form,  when 
Allan  Welsh,  passing  across  the  bridge  on  one  of  his  pastoral 
visitations,  came  upon  them  suddenly.  Dick  was  on  his 
knees  at  the  time,  his  hands  on  the  ground,  and  Andra  was 
forcing  his  head  determinedly  down  toward  the  surface  of 

*  Wigtonshire  is  invariably  spoken  of  in  Galloway  as  the  Shire, 
Kirkcudbrightshire  as  the  Stevvai'dry. 


ANDREW  KISSOCK  GOES  TO  SCHOOL.  77 

the  king's  highway.  Meanwhile  Dick  was  objecting  in  the 
most  vigorous  way. 

"  Boys,"  said  the  stern,  quiet  voice  of  the  minister, "  what 
are  you  doing  to  each  other  ?  Are  you  aware  it  is  against  both 
the  law  of  God  and  man  to  fight  in  this  way  ?  It  is  only 
from  the  beasts  that  perish  that  we  expect  such  conduct." 

"  If  ye  please,  sir,"  answered  Andra  in  a  shamefaced 
way,  yet  with  the  assurance  of  one  who  knows  that  he  has 
the  authorities  on  his  side,  "  Dick  Little  wull  no  bite  the 
dust." 

"Bite  the  dust! — what  do  you  mean, laddie?"  asked  the 
minister,  frowning. 

"  Weel  sir,  if  ye  please,  sir,  the  Buik  says  that  the  yin 
that  got  his  licks  fell  down  and  bit  the  dust.  Noo,  Dick's 
doon  fair  aneuch.  Ye  micht  speak  till  him  to  bite  the 
dust !  " 

And  Andra,  clothed  in  the  garments  of  conscious  recti- 
tude, stood  back  to  give  the  minister  room  to  deliver  his 
rebuke. 

The  stern  face  of  the  minister  relaxed. 

"  Be  off  with  you  to  school,"  he  said ;  "  I'll  look  in  to  see 
if  you  have  got  there  in  the  afternoon." 

Andra  and  Dick  scampered  down  the  road,  snatching 
their  satchels  as  they  ran.  In  half  an  hour  they  were  mak- 
ing momentary  music  under  the  avenging  birch  rod  of  Dun- 
can Duncanson,  the  learned  Dullarg  schoolmaster.  Their 
explanations  were  excellent.  Dick  said  that  he  had  been 
stopped  to  gather  the  eggs,  and  Andra  that  he  had  been  de- 
tained conversing  with  the  minister.  The  result  was  the 
same  in  both  cases — Andra  getting  double  for  sticking  to 
his  statement.  Yet  both  stories  were  true,  though  quite  ac- 
cidentally so,  of  course.  This  is  what  it  is  to  liave  a  bad 
character.  Neither  boy,  however,  felt  any  ill-Avill  whatever 
at  the  schoolmaster.     They  considered  that  he  was  tliere  in 


78  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

order  to  lick  them.  For  this  he  was  paid  by  their  parents' 
money,  and  it  would  have  been  a  fraud  if  he  had  not  duly 
earned  his  money  by  dusting  their  Jackets  daily.  Let  it  be 
said  at  once  that  he  did  most  conscientiously  earn  his  money, 
and  seldom  overlooked  any  of  his  pupils  even  for  a  day. 

Back  at  the  Grannoch  bridge,  under  the  parapet,  Allan 
Welsh,  the  minister  of  the  Kirk  of  the  Marrow,  found  the 
white  packet  lying  which  Winsome  had  tied  with  such  care. 
He  looked  all  round  to  see  whence  it  had  come.  Then 
taking  it  in  his  hand,  he  looked  at  it  a  long  time  silently, 
and  with  a  strange  and  not  unkindly  expression  on  his  face. 
He  lifted  it  to  his  lips  and  kissed  the  handwriting  which 
addressed  it  to  Master  Ralph  Peden.  As  he  paced  away  he 
carefully  put  it  in  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat.  Then, 
with  his  head  farther  forward  than  ever,  and  the  immanence 
of  his  great  brow  overshadowing  his  ascetic  face,  he  set  him- 
self slowly  to  climb  the  brae. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MIDSUMMER    DAWN. 

True  love  is  at  once  chart  and  compass.  It  led  Ralph 
Peden  out  into  a  cloudy  June  dawning.  It  was  soft,  amor- 
phous, uncoloured  night  when  he  went  out.  Slate-coloured 
clouds  were  racing  along  the  tops  of  the  hills  from  the 
south.  The  wind  blew  in  fitful  gusts  and  veering  flaws 
among  the  moorlands,  making  eddies  and  back-waters  of 
the  air,  which  twirled  the  fallen  petals  of  the  pear  and 
cherry  blossoms  in  the  little  manse  orchard. 

As  he  stepped  out  upon  the  moor  and  the  chill  of  dawn 
struck    inwai'd,   he  did   not   know  that  Allan  Welsh  was 


MIDSUMMER  DAWN.  79 

watching  him  from  his  blindless  bedroom.  Dawn  is  the 
testing-time  of  the  universe.  Its  cool,  solvent  atmosphere 
dissolves  social  amenities.  It  is  difficult  to  be  courteous, 
impossible  to  be  polite,  in  that  hour  before  the  heart  has 
realized  that  its  easy  task  of  throwing  the  blood  horizontally 
to  brain  and  feet  has  to  be  exchanged  for  the  harder  one  of 
throwing  it  vertically  to  the  extremities. 

Ralph  walked  slowly  and  in  deep  thought  through  the 
long  avenues  of  glimmering  beeches  and  under  the  dry 
rustle  of  the  quivering  poplars.  Then,  as  the  first  red  of 
dawn  touched  his  face,  he  looked  about  him.  He  was  clear 
of  the  trees  now,  and  the  broad  open  expanse  of  the  green 
fields  and  shining  water  meadows  that  ring  in  Loch  Grau- 
noch  widened  out  before  him.  The  winds  sighed  and  rum- 
bled about  the  hill-tops  of  the  Orchar  and  the  Black  Lag- 
gan,  but  in  the  valley  only  the  cool  moist  wind  of  dawn 
drew  largely  and  statedly  to  and  fro. 

Ealjoh  loved  Nature  instinctively,  and  saw  it  as  a  town- 
bred  lad  rarely  does.  He  was  deeply  read  in  the  more  scien- 
tific literature  of  the  subject,  and  had  sj)ent  many  days  in  his 
Majesty's  botanic  gardens,  which  lie  above  the  broad  breast 
of  the  Forth.  lie  now  proved  his  learning,  and  with  quick, 
sure  eye  made  it  real  on  the  Galloway  hills.  Every  leaf  spoke 
to  him.  He  could  lie  for  half  a  day  and  learn  wisdom  from 
the  ant.  He  took  in  the  bird's  song  and  the  moth's  flight. 
The  keepers  sometimes  wondered  at  the  lights  which  flashed 
here  and  there  about  the  plantations,  when  in  the  coolness 
of  a  moist  evening  he  went  out  to  entrap  the  sidelong-dash- 
ing flutterers  with  his  sugar-pots. 

But  since  he  came  to  Galloway,  and  especially  since  he 
smelled  the  smell  of  the  wood-fire  set  for  the  blanket-wash- 
ing above  the  Crae  Water  bridge,  there  were  new  secrets 
open  to  him.  He  possessed  a  voice  that  could  wile  a  bird 
oS  a  bough.    His  inner  sympathy  with  wild  and  tame  beasts 


80  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

alike  was  such  that  as  he  moved  quietly  among  a  drowsing, 
cud-chewing  herd  on  the  braes  of  Urioch  not  a  beast  moved. 

Among  them  a  wild,  untamed  colt  stood  at  bay,  its  tail 
arched  with  apprehension,  yet  sweeping  the  ground,  and 
watched  him  Avith  flashing  eyes  of  suspicion.  Ealph  held  out 
his  hand  slowly,  more  as  if  it  were  growing  out  of  his  side 
by  some  rapid  natural  process  than  as  if  he  were  extending 
it.  He  uttered  a  low  "  sussurrus  "  of  coaxing  and  invitation, 
all  the  while  imperceptibly  decreasing  his  distance  from  the 
colt.  The  animal  threw  back  its  head,  tossed  its  mane  in 
act  to  flee,  thought  better  of  it  and  dropped  its  nose  to  take 
a  bite  or  two  of  the  long  coarse  grass.  Then  again  it  looked 
up  and  continued  to  gaze,  fascinated  at  the  beckoning  afid 
caressing  fingers.  At  last,  with  a  little  whinny  of  pleasure, 
the  colt,  wholly  reassured,  came  up  and  nestled  a  wet  nose 
against  Ealph's  coat.  He  took  the  wild  thing's  neck  within 
the  arch  of  his  arm,  and  the  two  new  friends  stood  awhile 
in  grave  converse. 

A  moment  afterwards  Eali^h  bent  to  lay  a  hand  upon 
the  head  of  one  of  the  placid  queys*  that  had  watched  the 
courtship  with  full,  dewy  eyes  of  bovine  unconcern.  In- 
stantly the  colt  charged  into  the  still  group  with  a  wild 
flourish  of  hoofs  and  viciously  snapping  teeth,  scattering 
the  black-polled  Galloways  like  smoke.  Then,  as  if  to  re- 
proach Ealph  for  his  unfaithfulness,  he  made  a  circle  of  the 
field  at  a  full,  swinging  gallop,  sending  the  short  turf  flying 
from  his  unshod  hoofs  at  every  stride.  Back  he  came 
again,  a  vision  of  floating  mane  and  streaming  tail,  and 
stopped  dead  three  yards  from  Ealph,  his  forelegs  strained 
and  taut,  ploughing  furrows  in  the  grass.  As  Ealph  moved 
quietly  across  the  field  the  colt  followed,  pushing  a  cool 
moist  nose  over  the  young  man's  shoulder.     When  at  last 

*  Yoiins:  cows. 


MIDSUMMER  DAWN.  81 

Ealph  set  a  foot  on  the  projecting  stone  wliicli  stood  out 
from  the  side  of  the  gre}',  lichen-clad  stone  dyke,  the  colt 
stood  stretching  an  eager  head  over  as  though  desirous  of 
following  him ;  then,  with  a  whinny  of  disaioj^ointment, 
he  rushed  round  the  field,  charging  at  the  vaguely  wonder- 
ing and  listlessly  grazing  cattle  with  head  arched  between 
his  forelegs  and  a  flourish  of  widely  distributed  heels. 

Over  the  hill,  Craig  Ronald  was  still  wrapped  in  the 
lucid  impermanence  of  earliest  dawn,  when  Winsome  Char- 
teris  set  her  foot  over  the  blue  flag-stones  of  the  threshold. 
The  high  tide  of  darkness,  which  in  these  northern  summer 
mornings  never  rose  very  high  or  lasted  very  long,  had  ebbed 
long  ago.  The  indigo  grey  of  the  sky  was  receding,  and 
tinging  towards  the  east  with  an  imperceptibly  graded 
lavender  which  merged  behind  the  long  shaggy  outline  of 
the  piny  ridge  into  a  wash  of  pale  lemon  yellow. 

The  world  paused,  finger  on  lip,  saying  "  Hush ! "  to 
Winsome  as  she  stepped  over  the  threshold  from  the  serene- 
ly breathing  morning  air,  from  the  illimitable  sky  which 
ran  farther  and  farther  back  as  the  angels  drew  the  blinds 
from  the  windows  of  heaven. 

"  Hush  1  "  said  the  cows  over  the  hedge,  blowing  fra- 
grant breaths  of  approval  from  their  wide,  comma-shaped 
nostrils  upon  the  lush  grass  and  upon  the  short  heads  of 
white  clover,  as  they  stood  face  to  the  brae,  all  with  their 
heads  upward,  eating  their  way  like  an  army  on  the  march. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  "  said  the  sheep  Avho  were  straggling 
over  the  shorter  grass  of  the  High  Park,  feeding  fitfully  in 
their  short,  uneasy  way — crop,  crop,  crop — and  then  a  pause, 
to  move  forward  their  own  length  and  begin  all  over  again. 

But  the  sheep  and  the  kine,  the  dewy  grass  and  the 
brightening  sky,  might  every  one  have  spared  their  pains, 
for  it  was  in  no  wise  in  the  heart  of  Winsome  Charteris  to 
make  a  noise  amid  the  silences  of  dawn.      Meg  Kissock, 


82  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

who  still  lay  snug  by  Jess  in  a  plump-cheeked  country  sleep, 
made  noise  enough  to  stir  the  country  side  when,  rising, 
she  set  briskly  about  to  get  the  house  on  its  morning  legs. 
But  Winsome  was  one  of  the  few  people  in  this  world. — few 
but  happy — to  whom  a  sunrise  is  more  precious  than  a  sun- 
set— rarer  and  more  calming,  instinct  with  message  and  sign 
from  a  covenant-keeping  God.  Also,  Winsome  betook  her- 
self early  to  bed,  and  so  awoke  attuned  to  the  sun's  rising. 

What  drew  her  forth  so  early  this  June  day  was  no 
thought  or  hope  or  plan  except  the  desire  to  read  the  heart 
of  Nature,  and  perhaj^s  that  she  might  not  be  left  too  long 
alone  with  the  parable  of  her  own  heart.  A  girl's  heart  is 
full  of  thought  which  it  dares  not  express  to  herself — of 
fluttering  and  trembling  joossibilities,  chrysalis-like,  set 
aside  to  await  the  warmth  of  an  unrevealed  summer.  In 
Winsome's  soul  the  first  flushing  glory  of  the  May  of  youth 
was  waking  the  prisoned  life.  But  there  were  throbs  and 
thrillings  too  piercingly  sweet  to  last  undeveloped  in  her 
soul.  The  bursting  bud  of  her  healthful  beauty,  quickened 
by  the  shy  radiance  of  her  soul,  shook  the  centres  of  her 
life,  even  as  a  laburnum-tree  mysteriously  quivers  when  the 
golden  rain  is  in  act  to  break  from  the  close-clustered  de- 
pendent budlets. 

Thus  it  was  that,  at  the  stile  which  helps  the  paths  be- 
tween the  Dullarg  and  Craig  Eonald  to  overleap  the  high 
hill  dyke,  Ealph  met  Winsome.  As  they  looked  into  one 
another's  eyes,  they  saw  Nature  suddenly  dissolve  into  con- 
fused meaninglessness.  There  was  no  clear  message  for 
either  of  them  there,  save  the  message  that  the  old  world  of 
their  ho2:)es  and  fears  had  wholly  passed  away.  Yet  no  new 
world  had  come  when  over  the  hill  dyke  their  hands  met. 
They  said  no  word.  There  is  no  form  of  greeting  for  such. 
Eve  did  not  greet  Adam  in  polite  phrase  when  he  awoke  to 
find  her  in  the  dawn   of  one  Eden  day,  a  helpmeet  meet 


A   STRING   OF   THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET.  83 

for  him.  Neither  did  Eve  reply  that  "  it  was  a  fine  morn- 
ing." It  is  always  a  fine  morning  in  Eden.  They  were 
silent,  and  so  were  these  two.  Their  hands  lay  within  one 
another  a  single  instant.  Then,  with  a  sense  of  something 
wanting,  Ealph  sprang  lightly  over  the  dyke  as  an  Edin- 
burgh High-School  boy  ought  who  had  often  played  hares 
and  hounds  in  the  Hunter's  Bog,  and  been  duly  thrashed 
therefor  by  Dr.  Adam  *  on  the  following  morning. 

When  Ralph  stood  beside  her  upon  the  sunny  side  of 
the  stile  he  instinctively  resumed  Winsome's  hand.  Eor 
this  he  had  no  reason,  certainly  no  excuse.  Still,  it  may  be 
urged  in  excuse  that  it  was  as  much  as  an  hour  or  an  hour 
and  a  half  before  Winsome  remembered  that  he  needed 
any.  Our  most  correct  and  ordered  thoughts  have  a  way  of 
coming  to  us  belated,  as  the  passenger  who  strolls  in  con- 
fidently ten  minutes  after  the  platform  is  clear.  But,  like 
him,  they  are  at  least  ready  for  the  next  train. 

As  AVinsome  and  Ealph  turned  towards  the  east,  the 
sun  set  his  face  over  the  great  Scotch  firs  on  the  ridge, 
whose  tops  stood  out  like  poised  irregular  blots  on  the  fire- 
centred  ocean  of  light. 

It  was  the  new  day,  and  if  the  new  world  had  not  come 
with  it,  of  a  surety  it  was  well  on  the  way. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

A    STRING    OF   THE    LILAC    SUNBONNET. 

For  a  long  time  they  were  silent,  though  it  was  not  long 
before  Winsome  drew  away  her  hand,  which,  however,  con- 

*  The  very  famous  master  of  the  Tligh  School  of  Edinburgh. 


84  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

tinued  to  burn  consciously  for  an  hour  afterwards.  Silence 
settled  around  them.  The  constraint  of  speech  fell  first 
upon  Ivalph,  being  town-bred  and  accustomed  to  the  con- 
venances at  Professor  Thriepneuk's. 

"  You  rise  early,"  he  said,  glancing  shyly  down  at  Win- 
some, who  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  presence.  He  did 
not  wish  lier  to  forget.  He  had  no  objection  to  her  dream- 
ing, if  only  she  would  dream  about  him. 

Winsome  turned  the  bewildering  calmness  of  her  eyes 
upon  him.  A  gentleman,  they  say,  is  calm-eyed.  So  is  a 
cow.  But  in  the  eye  of  a  good  woman  there  is  a  peace 
which  comes  from  many  generations  of  mothers — who,  every 
one  Christs  in  their  way,  have  suffered  their  heavier  share 
of  the  Eden  curse. 

Ealph  would  have  given  all  that  he  possessed — which,  by 
the  way,  was  not  a  great  deal — to  be  able  to  assure  himself 
that  there  was  any  hesitancy  or  bashfulness  in  the  glance 
which  met  his  own.  But  Winsome's  eyes  were  as  clearly 
and  frankly  blue  as  if  God  had  made  them  new  that  morn- 
ing. At  least  Ralph  looked  upon  their  Sabbath  peace  and 
gave  thanks,  finding  them  very  good. 

A  sparkle  of  laughter,  at  first  silent  and  far  away,  sprang 
into  them,  like  a  breeze  coming  down  Loch  Grannoch  when 
it  lies  asleep  in  the  sun,  sending  shining  s])arkles  winking 
shoreward,  and  causing  the  wavering  golden  lights  on  the 
shallow  sand  of  the  bays  to  scatter  tremulously.  So  in  the 
depths  of  Winsome's  eyes  glimmered  the  coming  smile. 
Winsome  could  be  divinely  serious,  but  behind  there  lay 
the  possibility  and  certainty  of  very  frank  earthly  laughter. 
If,  as  Ralph  thought,  not  for  the  first  time  in  this  rough 
island  story,  this  girl  were  an  angel,  surely  she  was  one  to 
whom  her  Maker  had  given  that  rarest  gift  given  to  woman 
— a  well-balanced  sense  of  humour. 

So  when  Ralph  said,hardly  knowing  what  he  said,"  You 


A  STRING  OF  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET.  85 

rise  early,"  it  was  with  that  far-away  intention  of  a  smile 
that  Winsome  replied  : 

"  And  you,  sir,  have  surely  not  lagged  in  bed,  or  else  you 
have  come  here  in  a  great  hurry." 

"  I  rose,"  returned  Ralph,  "  certainly  betimes — in  fact,  a 
great  while  before  day ;  it  is  the  time  when  one  can  best 
know  one's  self." 

The  sententiousness,  natural  to  his  years  and  education, 
to  some  extent  rebuked  Winsome,  who  said  more  soberly  : 

"  Perhaps  you  have  again  lost  your  books  of  study  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  always  study  in  books,"  answered  Ralph. 

Winsome  continued  to  look  at  him  as  though  waiting  his 
explanation. 

"I  mean,"  said  Ralph,  quickly,  his  pale  cheek  touched 
with  red,  "  that  though  I  am  town-bred  I  love  the  things 
that  wander  among  the  flowers  and  in  the  wood.  There  are 
the  birds,  too,  and  the  little  green  plants  that  have  no  flow- 
ers, and  they  all  have  a  message,  if  I  could  only  hear  it  and 
understand  it." 

The  sparkle  in  Winsome's  eyes  quieted  into  calm. 

"  I  too "  she  began,  and  paused  as  if  startled  at  what 

she  was  about  to  say.  She  went  on :  "I  never  heard  any 
one  say  things  like  these.  I  did  not  know  that  any  one  else 
had  thoughts  like  these  except  myself." 

"And  have  you  thought  these  things?"  said  Ralph,  with 
a  quick  joy  in  his  heart. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Winsome,  looking  down  on  the  ground 
and  playing  with  the  loose  string  of  the  lilac  sunbonnet.  "  I 
used  often  to  wonder  how  it  was  that  I  could  not  look  on  the 
loch  on  Sabbath  morning  without  feeling  like  crying.  It 
was  often  better  to  look  upon  it  than  to  go  to  Maister  Welsh's 
kirk.  But  I  ought  not  to  say  these  things  to  you,"  she 
said,  with  a  quick  thought  of  his  profession. 

Ralph  smiled.     There  were  few  things  that  Winsome 


86  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

Charteris  might  not  say  to  him.  He  too  had  his  experiences 
to  collate. 

"  Have  you  ever  stood  on  a  hill-top  as  though  you  were 
suspended  in  the  air,  and  when  you  seem  to  feel  the  earth 
whirling  away  from  beneath  you,  rushing  swiftly  eastward 
towards  the  sunrise  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  it,"  said  Winsome  unexpectedly. 

"  Heard  it  ?  "  queried  Ralph,  with  doubt  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  Winsome  calmly,  "  I  have  often  heard  the 
earth  wheeling  round  on  still  nights  out  on  the  top  of  the 
Craigs,  where  there  was  no  sound,  and  all  the  house  was 
asleep.  It  is  as  if  some  Great  One  were  saying  '  Hush  ! '  to 
the  angels — I  think  God  himself  !  " 

These  were  not  the  opinions  of  the  kirk  of  the  IMarrow ; 
neither  were  they  expressed  in  the  Acts  Declaratory  or  the 
protests  or  claims  of  right  made  by  the  faithful  contending 
remnant.  But  Ralph  would  not  at  that  moment  have  hesi- 
tated to  add  them  to  the  Westminster  Confession. 

It  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  be  young.  It  is  marvellously 
delightful  to  be  young  and  a  poet  as  well,  who  has  just 
fallen — nay,  rather,  plunged  fathoms-deep  in  love.  Ralph 
Peden  was  both.  He  stood  watching  Winsome  Charteris, 
who  looked  past  him  into  a  distance  moistly  washed  with 
tender  ultramarine  ash,  like  her  own  eyes  too  full  of  colour 
to  be  gray  and  too  pearly  clear  to  be  blue. 

An  equal  blowing  wind  drew  up  the  loch  which  lay  be- 
neath flooded  with  morning  light,  the  sun  basking  on  its 
broad  expanse,  and  glittering  in  a  myriad  sparkles  on  the 
narrows  beneath  them  beside  which  the  blanket-washing 
had  been.  A  frolicsome  breeze  blew  down  the  hill  towards 
them  in  little  flicks  and  eddies.  One  of  these  drew  a  flossy 
tendril  of  Winsome's  golden  hair,  which  this  morning  had 
red  lights  in  it  like  the  garnet  gloss  on  ripe  wheat  or  Indian 
corn,  and  tossed  it  over  her  brow.     Ralph's  hand  tingled 


A   STRING   OF   THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET.  87 

with  the  desire  to  touch  it  and  put  it  back  under  her  bon- 
net, and  his  heart  leaped  at  the  thought.  But  though  he 
did  not  stir,  nor  had  any  part  of  his  being  moved  save  the 
hidden  thought  of  his  heart,  he  seemed  to  fall  iu  his  own 
estimation  as  one  who  had  attempted  a  sacrilege. 

"  Have  you  ever  noticed,"  continued  Winsome,  all  un- 
conscious, going  on  with  that  fruitful  comparison  of  feel- 
ings which  has  woven  so  many  gossamer  threads  into  three- 
fold cords,  "  how  everything  in  the  fields  and  the  woods  is 
tamer  in  the  morning?  They  seem  to  have  forgotten  that 
man  is  their  natural  enemy  while  they  slept." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Ralph  theologically,  "  when  they  awake 
they  forget  that  they  are  not  still  in  that  old  garden  that 
Adam  kept." 

Winsome  was  looking  at  him  now,  for  he  had  looked 
away  in  his  turn,  lost  in  a  poet's  thought.  It  struck  her  for 
the  first  time  that  other  people  might  think  him  handsome. 
When  a  girl  forgets  to  think  whether  she  herself  is  of  this 
opinion,  and  begins  to  think  what  others  will  think  on  a  sub- 
ject like  this  (which  really  does  not  concern  her  at  all),  the 
proceedings  in  the  case  are  not  finished. 

They  walked  on  together  down  by  the  sunny  edge  of  the 
great  plantation.  The  sun  was  now  rising  well  into  the  sky, 
climbing  directly  upward  as  if  on  this  midsummer  day  he 
were  leading  a  forlorn  hope  to  scale  the  zenith  of  heaven. 
He  shone  on  the  russet  tassels  of  the  larches,  and  the  deep 
sienna  boles  of  the  Scotch  firs.  The  clouds,  which  rolled 
fleecy  and  white  in  piles  and  crenulated  bastions  of  cumulus, 
lighted  the  eyes  of  the  man  and  maid  as  they  went  onward 
upon  the  crisping  piny  carpet  of  fallen  fir-needles. 

"  I  have  never  seen  Nature  so  lovely,"  said  Ralph,  "  as 
when  the  bright  morning  breaks  after  a  night  of  shower. 
Everything  seems  to  have  been  new  bathed  in  freshness." 

"  As  if  Dame  Nature  had  had  her  spring  cleaning,"  an- 


88  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

swered  Winsome,  "  or  Andrew  Kissock  when  he  has  had  his 
face  washed  once  a  week,"  who  had  been  serious  long  enough, 
and  who  felt  tliat  too  much  earnestness  even  in  the  study  of 
Nature  might  be  a  dangerous  thing. 

But  the  inner  thought  of  each  was  something  quite  dif- 
ferent. This  is  what  Ealph  thought  within  his  heart,  though 
his  words  were  also  perfectly  genuine  : 

"  There  is  a  dimple  on  her  chin  which  comes  out  when 
she  smiles,"  so  he  wanted  her  to  smile  again.  When  she 
did  so,  she  was  lovely  enough  to  peril  the  Faith  or  even  the 
denomination. 

Ralph  tried  to  recollect  if  there  were  no  more  stiles  on 
this  hill  path  over  which  she  might  have  to  be  helped.  He 
had  taken  off  his  hat  and  walked  beside  her  bareheaded,  car- 
rying his  hat  in  the  hand  farthest  from  Winsome,  who  was 
wondering  how  soon  she  would  be  able  to  tell  him  that  he 
must  keep  his  shoulders  back. 

Winsome  was  not  a  young  woman  of  great  experience  in 
these  matters,  but  she  had  the  natural  instinct  for  the  possi- 
bilities of  love  without  which  no  woman  comes  into  the  world 
— at  once  armour  defensive  and  weapon  offensive.  She  knew 
that  one  day  Ralph  Peden  would  tell  her  that  he  loved  her, 
but  in  the  meantime  it  was  so  very  pleasant  that  it  was  a 
pity  the  days  should  come  to  an  end.  So  she  resolved  that 
they  should  not,  at  least  not  Just  yet.  If  to-morrow  be  good, 
why  confine  one's  self  to  to-day  ?  She  had  not  yet  faced  the 
question  of  Avhat  she  would  say  to  him  when  the  day  could 
be  no  longer  postponed.  She  did  not  care  to  face  it.  Suf- 
ficient unto  the  day  is  the  good  thereof,  is  quite  as  excellent 
a  preccj)t  as  its  counterpart,  or  at  least  so  Winsome  Charteris 
thought.  But,  all  the  same,  she  wished  that  she  could  tell 
him  to  keep  his  shoulders  back. 

A  sudden  resolve  sprang  full  armed  from  her  brain. 
Winsome  had  that  strange  irresponsibility  sometimes  which 


A  STRING   OF    THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET.  89 

comes  irresistibly  to  some  men  and  women  in  youth,  to  say 
something  as  an  experiment  which  she  well  knew  she  ought 
not  to  say,  simply  to  see  what  would  happen.  More  than 
once  it  had  got  her  into  trouble. 

"  I  wish  you  would  keep  back  your  shoulders  when  you 
walk  !"  she  said,  quick  as  a  flash,  stopping  and  turning  side- 
ways to  face  Ealph  Peden. 

Ralph,  walking  thoughtfully  with  the  student  stoop, 
stood  aghast,  as  though  not  daring  to  reply  lest  his  ears  had 
not  heard  aright. 

"  I  say,  why  do  you  not  keep  your  shoulders  back  ?  "  re- 
peated Winsome  sharply,  and  with  a  kind  of  irritation  at  his 
silence. 

He  had  no  right  to  make  her  feel  uncomfortable,  what- 
ever she  might  say. 

"  I  did  not  know — I  thought — nobody  ever  told  me," 
said  Ralph,  stammering  and  catching  at  the  word  which 
came  uppermost,  as  he  had  done  in  college  when  Professor 
Thriepneuk,  who  was  as  fierce  in  the  class-room  as  he  was 
mild  at  home,  had  him  cornered  upon  a  quantity. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Winsome,  "  if  every  one  is  so  blind,  it 
is  time  that  some  one  did  tell  you  now." 

Ralph  squared  himself  like  a  drill-sergeant,  holding 
himself  so  straight  that  Winsome  laughed  outright,  and  that 
so  merrily  that  Ralph  laughed  too,  well  content  that  the 
dimple  on  her  cheek  should  play  at  hide  and  seek  with  the 
pink  flush  of  her  clear  skin. 

So  they  had  come  to  the  stile,  and  Ralph's  heart  beat 
stronger,  and  a  nervous  tension  of  exjoectation  quivered 
through  him,  bewildering  his  judgment.  But  Winsome 
was  very  clear-headed,  and  though  the  white  of  her  eyes 
was  as  dewy  and  clear  as  a  child's,  she  was  7io  simpleton. 
She  had  read  many  men  and  women  in  her  time,  for  it  is 
the  same  in  essence  to  rule  Craig  Ronald  as  to  rule  Rome. 


90  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

"  This  is  your  way,"  she  said,  sitting  down  on  the  stile. 
"  I  am  going  vip  to  Jolm  Scott's  to  see  about  the  lambs. 
It  will  be  breakfast-time  at  the  manse  before  you  get 
back." 

Ealph's  castle  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  I  will  come  up  with  you  to  John  Scott's,"  he  said  with 
an  undertone  of  eagerness. 

"  Indeed,  that  you  will  not,"  said  Winsome  promptly, 
who  did  not  want  to  arrive  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning 
at  John  Scott's  with  any  young  man.  "  You  will  go  home 
and  take  to  your  book,  after  you  have  changed  your  slioes 
and  stockings,"  she  said  practically. 

"  Well,  then,  let  me  bid  you  good-bye.  Winsome  ' "  said 
Ralph. 

Her  heart  was  warm  to  hear  him  say  Winsome — for  the 
first  time.  It  certainly  was  not  unpleasant,  and  there  was 
no  need  that  she  should  quarrel  about  that.  She  was  about 
to  give  him  her  hand,  when  she  saw  something  in  his  eye. 

"  Mind,  you  are  not  to  kiss  it  as  you  did  grannie's  yes- 
terday ;  besides,  there  are  John  Scott's  dogs  on  the  brow  of 
the  hill,"  she  said,  pointing  upward. 

Poor  Ralph  could  only  look  more  crestfallen  still.  Such 
knowledge  was  too  high  for  him.  He  fell  back  on  his  old 
formula  : 

"  I  said  before  tliat  you  are  a  witch " 

"  And  you  say  it  again  ?  "  queried  Winsome,  with  careless 
nonchalance,  swinging  her  bonnet  by  its  strings.  "  Well, 
you  can  come  back  and  kiss  gi'annie's  hand  some  other  day. 
You  are  something  of  a  favourite  with  her." 

But  she  had  presumed  just  a  hair-breadth  too  far  on 
Ralph's  gentleness.  He  snatched  the  lilac  sunbonnet  out  of 
her  hands,  tearing,  in  his  haste,  one  of  the  strings  oflf,  and 
leaving  it  in  Winsome's  hand.  Then  he  kissed  it  once  and 
twice  outside  where  the  sun  shone  on  it,  and  inside  where 


A  STRING   OP   THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET.  91 

it  had  rested  on  her  head.  "  You  have  torn  it,"  she  said 
complaiuingly,  yet  without  anger. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Ralph  Peden,  coming  nearer  to 
her  with  a  light  in  his  eye  that  she  had  never  seen  before. 

Winsome  dropped  tlie  string,  snatched  up  the  bonnet, 
and  fled  up  the  hill  as  trippingly  as  a  young  doe  towards  the 
herd's  cottage.  At  the  top  of  the  fell  she  paused  a  moment 
with  her  hand  on  her  side,  as  if  out  of  breath.  Ralph  Peden 
was  still  holding  the  torn  bonnet-string  in  his  hand. 

He  held  it  up,  hanging  loose  like  a  pennon  from  his 
hand.     She  could  hear  the  words  come  clear  up  the  hill : 

"I'm  very — glad — that — I — tore — it,  and  I  will  come 
and — see — your — grandmother  !  " 

"  Of  all  the "    Winsome  stopped  for  want  of  Avords, 

speaking  to  herself  as  she  turned  away  up  the  hill — "  of 
all  the  insolent  and  disagreeable " 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence,  as  she  adjusted  the  out- 
raged sunbonnet  on  her  curls,  tucking  the  remaining  string 
carefully  within  the  crown  ;  but  as  she  turned  again  to  look, 
Ralph  Peden  was  calmly  folding  up  the  string  and  putting 
it  in  a  book. 

"  I  shall  never  speak  to  him  again  as  long  as  I  live,"  she 
said,  compressing  her  lips  so  that  a  dimple  that  Ralph 
had  never  seen  came  out  on  the  other  side.  This,  of  course, 
closed  the  record  in  the  case.  Yet  in  a  little  while  she 
added  thoughtfully  :  "  But  he  is  very  handsome,  and  I 
think  he  will  keep  his  shoulders  back  now.  Not,  of  course, 
that  it  matters,  for  I  am  never  to  speak  to  him  any  more ! " 

John  Scott's  dogs  were  by  this  time  leaping  upon  her, 
and  that  worthy  sliepherd  was  coming  along  a  steep  slope 
upon  the  edges  of  his  boot-soles  in  the  miraculous  manner, 
which  is  peculiar  to  herds,  as  if  he  wore  walking  on  the 
turnpike. 

Winsome  turned  for  the  last  time.     Against  the  broad, 


92  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

dark  sapphire  expanse  of  the  loch,  just  where  the  great 
inarch  dyke  stepped  o3  to  bathe  in  the  summer  water,  she 
saw  something  bhick  which  waved  a  hand  and  sj^rang  over 
lightly. 

Winsome  sighed,  and  said  a  little  wistfully  yet  not  sadly  : 
"  Who  would  have  thought  it  of  him?     It  just  shows  !  " 
she  said.    All  which  is  a  warning  to  maids  that  the  meekest 
worm  may  turn. 


CHAPTEE   XIV. 

CAPTAIJSr    AGXEW    GEEATOEIX. 

Greatorix  Castle  sat  mightily  upon  a  hill.  It  could 
not  be  hid,  and  it  looked  down  superciliously  upon  the  little 
squiredom  of  Craig  Konald,  as  well  as  upon  farms  and  cot- 
tages a  many.  In  days  not  so  long  gone  by,  Greatorix 
Castle  had  been  the  hold  of  the  wearers  of  the  White 
Cockade,  rough  riders  after  Lag  and  Sir  James  Dalzyell, 
and  rebels  after  that,  who  had  held  with  Derwentwater  and 
the  prince.  Now  there  was  quiet  there.  Only  the  Lady 
Elizabeth  and  her  son  Agnew  Greatorix  dwelt  there,  and 
the  farmer's  cow  and  the  cottager's  pig  grazed  and  rooted 
unharmed — not  always,  however,  it  was  whispered,  the 
farmer's  daughter,  for  of  all  serfdoms  the  droit  dn  seignior 
is  the  last  to  die.  Still,  Greatorix  Castle  was  a  notable  place, 
high  set  on  its  hill,  shires  and  towns  beneath,  the  blue 
breath  of  peat  reek  blowing  athwart  the  plain  beneath  and 
rising  like  an  incense  about. 

Here  the  Lady  Elizabeth  dwelt  in  solemn  but  greatly 
reduced  state.  She  was  a  woman  devoted  to  the  jn'actice  of 
holiness  according  to  the  way  of  the  priest.  It  was  the 
whole  wish  of  her  life  that  she  might  keep  a  spiritual  di- 


CAPTAIN   AGNEW  GREATORIX.  93 

rector,  instead  of  having  Father  Mahon  to  ride  over  from 
Dumfries  once  a  month. 

Within  the  castle  there  were  many  signs  of  decay — none 
of  rehabilitation.  The  carpets  were  worn  into  holes  where 
feet  had  oftenest  fallen,  and  the  few  servants  dared  not 
take  them  out  to  be  beaten  in  the  due  season  of  the  year, 
for  indubitably  they  would  fall  to  pieces.  So  the  curtains 
hung  till  an  unwary  stranger  would  rest  upon  them  with  a 
hand's  weight.  Then  that  hand  plucked  a  palmbreadth 
away  of  the  rotten  and  moth-eaten  fabric. 

There  was  an  aged  housekeeper  at  Greatorix  Castle,  who 
dwelt  in  the  next  room  to  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  and  was  sup- 
posed to  act  as  her  maid.  Mistress  Humbie,  however,  was 
an  exacting  person ;  and  being  an  aged  woman,  and  her  in- 
firmities bearing  upon  her,  she  considered  it  more  fitting 
that  the  Lady  Elizabeth  should  wait  upon  her.  This,  for 
the  good  of  her  soul,  the  Lady  Elizabeth  did.  Two  maids 
and  a  boy,  a  demon  boy,  in  buttons,  who  dwelt  below-stairs 
and  gave  his  time  to  the  killing  of  rats  with  ingenious  cata- 
pults and  crossbows,  completed  the  household — except  Ag- 
new  Greatorix. 

The  exception  was  a  notable  one.  Save  in  the  matter 
of  fortune,  Nature  had  not  dealt  unhandsomely  with  Agnew 
Greatorix ;  yet  Just  because  of  this  his  chances  of  growing 
up  into  a  strong  and  useful  man  were  few.  He  had  been 
nurtured  upon  expectations  from  his  earliest  youth.  His 
uncle  Agnew,  the  Lady  Elizabeth's  childless  brother,  who 
for  the  sake  of  the  favour  of  a  strongly  Protestant  aunt 
had  left  the  mother  church  of  the  Greatorix  family,  had 
been  expected  to  do  something  for  Agnew;  but  up  to  this 
present  time  he  had  received  only  his  name  from  him,  in 
lieu  of  all  the  stately  heritages  of  Holywood  in  the  Nith 
Valley  hard  by  Lincluden,  and  Stennesholm  in  Carrick. 

So  Agnew  Greatorix  had  grown  up  in  the  midst  of  raw 
7 


94  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

youths  who  were  not  his  peers  in  position.  He  companied 
with  them  till  his  mother  pointed  out  that  it  was  not  for  a 
Greatorix  to  drink  in  the  Blue  Bell  and  at  the  George  with 
the  sons  of  wealthy  farmers  and  bonnet  lairds.  By  dint  of 
scraping  and  saving  which  took  a  long  time,  and  influence 
which,  costing  nothing,  took  for  a  Greatorix  no  time  at  all, 
the  Lady  Elizabeth  obtained  for  her  son  a  commission  in 
the  county  yeomanry.  There  he  was  thrown  with  Max- 
wells of  the  Braes,  Herons  from  the  Shireside,  and  Gordons 
from  the  northern  straths — all  young  men  of  means  and 
figure  in  the  county.  Into  the  midst  of  these  Agnew  took 
his  tightly  knit  athletic  figure,  his  small  firmly  set  head  and 
full-blooded  dark  face — the  only  faults  of  which  were  that 
the  eyes  were  too  closely  set  together  and  shuttered  with 
lids  that  would  not  open  more  than  half  way,  and  that  he 
possessed  the  sensual  mouth  of  a  man  who  has  never  will- 
ingly submitted  to  a  restraint.  Agnew  Greatorix  could  not 
compete  with  his  companions,  but  he  cut  them  out  as  a 
squire  of  dames,  and  came  home  with  a  dangerous  and  fas- 
cinating reputation,  the  best-hated  man  in  the  corps. 

So  when  Captain  Agnew  clattered  through  the  village 
in  clean-cut  scarlet  and  clinking  spurs,  all  the  maids  ran  to 
the  door,  except  only  a  few  who  had  once  run  like  the  others 
but  now  ran  no  more.  The  captain  came  often  to  Craig 
Eonald.  It  was  upon  his  way  to  kirk  and  market,  for  the 
captain  for  the  good  of  his  soul  went  occasionally  to  the 
little  chaj)el  of  the  Permission  at  Dumfries.  Still  oftener 
he  came  with  the  books  which  the  Lady  Elizabeth  obtained 
from  Edinburgh,  the  reading  of  which  she  shared  with  Mis- 
tress Walter  Skirving,  whose  kinship  with  the  Lochinvars 
she  did  not  forget,  though  her  father  had  been  of  the  moor- 
land branch  of  that  honourable  house,  and  she  herself  had 
disgraced  her  ancient  name  by  marrying  with  a  psalm-sing- 
ing bonnet  laird.    But  the  inexplicability  of  saying  whom  a 


CAPTAIN   AGNEW   GREATORIX.  95 

woman  may  not  take  it  into  her  head  to  marry  was  no  bar- 
rier to  the  friendship  of  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  who  kept  all 
her  religion  for  her  own  consumption  and  did  not  even 
trouble  her  son  with  it — which  was  a  great  pity,  for  he  in- 
deed had  much  need,  though  small  desire,  thereof. 

On  the  contrary,  it  was  a  mark  of  good  blood  sometimes 
to  follow  one's  own  fancy.  The  Lady  Elizabeth  had  done 
that  herself  against  the  advice  of  the  countess  her  mother, 
and  that  was  the  reason  why  she  dwelt  amid  hangings  that 
came  away  in  handfuls,  and  was  waiting- maid  to  Mistress 
Humbie  her  own  housekeeper. 

Agnew  Greatorix  had  an  eye  for  a  pretty  face,  or  rather 
for  every  pretty  face.  Indeed,  he  had  nothing  else  to  do, 
except  clean  his  spurs  and  ride  to  the  market  town.  So, 
since  the  author  of  Waverley  began  to  write  his  inimitable 
fictions,  and  his  mother  to  divide  her  time  between  works 
of  devotion  and  the  adventures  of  Ivanhoe  and  Nigel,  Ag- 
new Greatorix  had  made  many  pilgrimages  to  Craig  Ronald. 
Here  the  advent  of  the  ca^^tain  was  much  talked  over  by  the 
maids,  and  even  anticipated  by  Winsome  herself  as  a  pic- 
turesque break  in  the  monotony  of  the  staid  country  life. 
Certainly  he  brought  the  essence  of  strength  and  youth  and 
athletic  energy  into  the  quiet  court-yard,  when  he  rode  in 
on  his  showily  paced  horse  and  reined  him  round  at  the  low 
steps  of  the  front  door,  with  the  free  handling  and  cavalry 
swing  which  he  had  inherited  as  much  from  the  long  line  of 
Greatorixes  who  had  ridden  out  to  harry  the  Warden's  men 
along  the  marches,  as  from  the  yeomanry  riding-master. 

Now,  the  captain  was  neither  an  obliging  nor  yet  a  par- 
ticularly amiable  young  man,  and  when  he  took  so  kindly 
to  fetching  and  carrying,  it  was  not  long  before  the  broad 
world  of  farm  towns  and  herds'  cot-houses  upon  which 
Greatorix  Castle  looked  down  suspected  a  motive,  and  said 
so  in  its  own  way. 


96  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

On  one  occasion,  riding  down  the  long  loaning  of  Craig 
Ronald,  the  captain  came  upon  the  slight,  ascetic  figure  of 
Allan  Welsh,  the  Marrow  minister,  leaning  upon  the  gate 
which  closed  the  loaning  from  the  road.  The  minister  ob- 
served him,  but  showed  no  signs  of  moving.  Agnew  Great- 
orix  checked  his  horse. 

"  Would  you  open  the  gate  and  allow  me  to  pass  on  my 
way?"  he  said,  with  chill  politeness.  The  minister  of  the 
Marrow  kirk  looked  keenly  at  him  from  under  his  grey  eye- 
brows. 

"  After  I  have  had  a  few  words  with  you,  young  sir," 
said  Mr.  Welsh. 

"  I  desire  no  words  with  you,"  returned  the  young  man 
impatiently,  backing  his  horse. 

"  For  whom  are  your  visits  at  Craig  Eonald  intended  ?  " 
said  the  minister  calmly.  "  Walter  Skirving  and  his  spouse 
do  not  receive  company  of  such  dignity ;  and  besides  them 
there  are  only  the  maids  that  I  know  of." 

"  Who  made  you  my  father  confessor?"  mocked  Agnew 
Greatorix,  with  an  unpleasant  sneer  on  his  handsome  face. 

"  The  right  of  being  minister  in  the  things  of  the  Spirit 
to  all  that  dwell  in  Craig  Ronald  House,"  said  the  minister 
of  the  Marrow  firmly. 

"  Truly  a  pleasant  ministry,  and  one,  no  doubt,  requir- 
ing frequent  ministrations ;  yet  do  I  not  remember  to  have 
met  you  at  Craig  Ronald,"  he  continued.  "  So  faithful  a 
minister  surely  must  be  faithful  in  his  spiritual  attentions." 

He  urged  his  horse  to  the  side  of  the  gate  and  leaned 
over  to  open  the  gate  himself,  but  the  minister  had  his  hand 
firmly  on  the  latch. 

"  I  have  seen  you  ride  to  many  maids'  houses,  Agnew 
Greatorix,  since  the  day  your  honoured  father  died,  but 
never  a  one  have  I  seen  the  better  of  your  visits.  Woe  and 
sorrow  have  attended  ujDon  your  way.     You  may  ride  off 


ON  THE  EDGE  OP  TUE  ORCHARD.       97 

now  at  your  ease,  but  beware  the  vengeance  of  the  God  of 
Jacob ;  the  mother's  curse  and  the  father's  malison  ride  not 
far  behind ! " 

"Preach  me  no  preachments,"  said  the  young  man; 
"keep  such  for  your  Marrow  folk  on  Sundays;  you  but 
waste  your  words." 

"  Then  I  beseech  you  by  the  memory  of  a  good  father, 
whom,  though  of  another  and  an  alien  communion,  I  shall 
ever  respect,  to  cast  your  eyes  elsewhere,  and  let  the  one  ewe 
lamb  of  those  whom  God  hath  stricken  alone." 

The  gate  was  open  now,  and  as  he  came  through,  Agnew 
G'-eatorix  made  his  horse  curvet,  pushing  the  frail  form  of 
the  preacher  almost  into  the  hedge. 

"  If  you  would  like  to  come  and  visit  us  up  at  the 
castle,"  he  said  mockingly,  "  I  dare  say  we  could  yet  re- 
ceive you  as  my  forefathers,  of  whom  you  are  so  fond,  used 
to  welcome  your  kind.  I  saw  the  thumbikins  the  other 
day;  and  I  dare  say  we  could  fit  yoii  with  your  size  in 
boots." 

"  The  Lord  shall  pull  down  the  mighty  from  their  seats, 
and  exalt  them  that  are  of  low  estate  ! "  said  the  preacher 
solemnly. 

"  Very  likely/'  said  the  young  man  as  he  rode  away. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

ON   THE    EDGE    OF   THE    ORCHARD. 

But  Agnew  Greatorix  came  as  often  as  ever  to  Craig 
Ronald.  Generally  he  found  Winsome  busy  with  her  house- 
hold affairs,  sometimes  with  her  sleeves  buckled  above  her 
elbows,  rolling  tlie  tough  dough  for  the  crumpy  farles  of 


98  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

the  oat-cake,  and  scattering  handfuls  of  dry  meal  over  it 
with  deft  fingers  to  bring  the  mass  to  its  proper  consistency 
for  rolling  out  upon  the  bake-board.  Leaving  his  horse 
tethered  to  the  great  dismounting  stone  at  the  angle  of  the 
kitchen  (a  granite  boulder  or  "  travelled  stone,"  as  they  said 
thereabouts),  witli  an  iron  ring  into  it,  he  entered  and  sat 
down  to  watch.  Sometimes,  as  to-day,  he  would  be  only 
silent  and  watchful ;  but  he  never  failed  to  compass  Win- 
some with  the  compliment  of  humility  and  observance.  It 
is  possible  that  better  things  Avere  stirring  in  his  heart  than 
usually  brought  him  to  such  j^laces.  There  is  no  doubt,  in- 
deed, that  he  appreciated  the  frankness  and  plain  speech 
which  he  received  from  the  very  practical  young  mistress  of 
Craig  Ronald. 

When  he  left  the  house  it  was  Agnew  Greatorix's  in- 
variable custom  to  skirt  the  edge  of  the  orchard  before 
mounting.  Just  in  the  dusk  of  the  grea,t  oak-tree,  where 
its  branches  mingle  with  those  of  the  gean  [wild  cherry], 
he  was  met  by  the  slim,  lithe  figure  of  Jess  Kissock,  in 
whose  piquant  elvishness  some  strain  of  Eomany  blood 
showed  itself.  ^ 

Jess  had  been  waiting  for  him  ever  since  he  had  taken 
his  hat  in  his  hand  to  leave  the  house.  As  he  came  in 
sight  of  the  watcher,  Agnew  Greatorix  stopped,  and  Jess 
came  closer  to  him,  motioning  him  imperiously  to  bring 
his  horse  close  in  to  the  shadow  of  the  orchard  wall.  Ag- 
new did  so,  putting  out  his  arm  as  if  he  would  kiss  her; 
but,  with  a  quick  fierce  movement,  Jess  thrust  his  hand 
away. 

"  I  have  told  you  before  not  to  play  these  tricks  with  me 
— keep  them  for  them  that  ye  come  to  Craig  Eonald  to  see. 
It's  the  mistress  ye  want.  What  need  a  gentleman  like  you 
meddle  with  the  maid  ?  " 

"  Impossible  as  it  may  seem,  the  like  has  been  done," 


ON  THE  EDGE  OP  THE  ORCHARD.       99 

said  Agnew,  smiling  down  at  the  black  eyes  and  blowing 
elf  locks. 

"  Not  with  this  maid,"  replied  Jess  succinctly,  and  in- 
deed she  looked  exceedingly  able  to  take  care  of  herself,  as 
became  Meg  Kissock's  sister, 

"I'll  go  no  further  with  Winsome,"  said  Greatorix 
gloomily,  breaking  the  silence.  "  You  said  that  if  I  con- 
sulted her  about  the  well-being  of  the  poor  rats  over  at  the 
huts,  and  took  her  advice  about  the  new  cottages  for  the 
foresters,  she  would  listen  to  me.  Well,  she  did  listen,  but 
as  soon  as  I  hinted  at  any  other  subject,  I  might  as  well 
have  been  talking  to  the  old  daisy  in  the  sitting-room  with 
the  white  band  round  her  head." 

"  Did  anybody  ever  see  the  like  of  you  menfolk  ?  "  cried 
Jess,  throwing  up  her  hands  hopelessly  ;  "  d'ye  think  that 
a  bonny  lass  is  just  like  a  black  ripe  cherry  on  a  bough, 
ready  to  drap  into  your  mooth  when  it  pleases  your  high 
mightinesses  to  hold  it  open  ?  " 

"  Has  Winsome  Charteris  any  sweetheart  ?  "  asked  tlie 
captain. 

"  What  for  wad  she  be  doing  with  a  sweetheart?  She 
has  muckle  else  to  think  on.  There's  a  young  man  that's 
baith  braw  an'  bonny,  a  great  scholar  frae  Enbra'  toon  that 
comes  gye  an'  aften  frae  the  manse  0'  Dullarg,  wliaur  he's 
bidin'  a'  the  simmer  for  the  learnin'.  He  comes  whiles, 
an'  Winsome  kind  o'  gies  him  a  bit  convoy  up  the  hill." 

"  Jess  Kissock,"  said  the  young  man  passionately,  "  tell 
me  no  lies,  or " 

"  Nane  o'  yer  ill  tongue  for  me,  young  man  ;  keep  it  for 
yer  mither.  I'm  little  feared  o'  ye  or  ony  like  ye.  Ye'll 
maybe  get  a  bit  dab  frae  the  neb  o'  a  jockteleg  [point  of  a 
sheath-knife]  that  will  yeuk  [tickle]  ye  for  a  day  or  twa 
gin  ye  dinna  learn  an'  that  speedily,  as  Maister  Welsh  wad 
say,  to  keep  yer  ban's  aff  my  faither's  dochter."     Jess's  good 


100  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

Scots  was  infiuitely  better  and  more  vigorous  than  the  Eng- 
lish of  the  lady's  maid, 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Jess.  I  am  a  passionate,  hasty  man. 
I  am  sure  I  meant  no  harm.  Tell  me  more  of  this  hulking 
landlouper  [intruder],  and  I'll  give  you  a  kiss." 

"  Keep  yer  kisses  for  them  that  likes  them.  The  young 
man's  no  landlouper  ony  mair  nor  yersel' — no  as  mickle  in- 
deed, but  a  very  proper  young  man,  wi'  a  face  as  bonny  as 
an  angel " 

"  But,  Jess,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to 
help  him  with  Winsome  ?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  Feint  a  bit ! "  answered  the  young  woman  frankly. 
"  She'll  no  get  him  gin  I  can  help  it.  I  saw  him  first  and 
bid  him  guid-day  afore  ever  she  set  her  een  on  him.  It's 
ilka  yiu  for  hersel'  when  it  comes  to  a  braw  young  man," 
and  Jess  tossed  her  gipsy  head,  and  pouted  a  pair  of  hand- 
some scarlet  lips. 

Greatorix  laughed.  "  The  land  lies  that  way,  does  it?  " 
he  said.  "  Then  that's  why  you  would  not  give  me  a  kiss 
to-day,  Jess,"  he  went  on ;  "  the  black  coat  has  routed  the 
red  baith  but  an'  ben — but  we'll  see.  You  cannot  both 
have  him,  Jess,  and  if  you  are  so  very  fond  of  the  parson, 
ye'U  maybe  help  me  to  keep  Winsome  Charteris  to  myself." 

"  Wad  ye  mairry  her  gin  ye  had  the  chance,  Agnew 
Greatorix  ?  " 

"Certainly;  what  else?"  replied  the  young  man  promptly. 

"  Then  ye  shall  hae  her,"  replied  Jess,  as  if  Winsome 
were  within  her  deed  of  gift. 

"  And  you'll  try  for  the  student,  Jess  ?  "  asked  the  young 
man.  "  I  suppose  he  would  not  need  to  ask  twice  for  a 
kiss  ?  " 

"  Na,  for  I  would  kiss  him  withoot  askin' — that  is,  gin 
he  hadna  the  sense  to  kiss  we,"  said  Jess  frankly. 

"  Well,"  said  Greatorix,  somewhat  reluctantly,  "  I'm  sure 


ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  ORCHARD.      101 

I  wish  you  joy  of  your  parson.  I  see  now  what  the  canting 
old  hound  from  the  Dullarg  Manse  meant  when  he  tackled 
me  at  the  loaning  foot.  He  wanted  Winsome  for  the  young 
whelp." 

"  I  dinua  think  that,"  replied  Jess  ;  "  he  disna  want  him 
to  come  aboot  here  ony  mair  nor  you." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Jess  ?  " 

"Ou,  I  Juist  ken." 

"  Can  you  find  out  what  Winsome  thinks  herself  ?  " 

"  I  can  that,  though  she  hasna  a  word  to  say  to  me — that 
am  far  mair  deservin'  o'  confidence  than  that  muckle  peony- 
faced  hempie,  Meg,  that  an  ill  Providence  gied  me  for  a  sis- 
ter. Her  keep  a  secret? — the  wind  wad  waft  it  oot  o'  her." 
Thus  affectionately  Jess. 

"  But  how  can  you  find  out,  then  ?  "  persisted  the  young 
man,  yet  unsatisfied. 

"  Ou  fine  that,"  said  Jess.    "  Meg  talks  in  her  sleep." 

Before  Agnew  Greatorix  leaped  on  to  his  horse,  which  all 
this  time  had  stood  quiet  on  his  bridle-arm,  only  occasion- 
ally jerking  his  head  as  if  to  ask  his  master  to  come  away, 
he  took  the  kiss  he  had  been  denied,  and  rode  away  laugh- 
ing, but  with  one  cheek  much  redder  than  the  other,  the 
mark  of  Jess's  vengeance. 

"  Ye  hae  ower  muckle  conceit  an'  ower  little  sense  ever 
to  be  a  richt  blackguard,"  said  Jess  as  he  went,  "but  ye 
hae  the  richt  intention  for  the  deil's  wark.  Ye'll  do  the 
young  mistress  nae  hurt,  for  she  wad  never  look  twice  at  ye, 
but  I  cannot  let  her  get  the  bonny  lad  frae  Embra' — na,  I 
saw  him  first,  an'  first  come  first  served  !  " 

"  Where  have  you  been  so  long,"  asked  her  mistress,  as 
she  came  in. 

"Juist  drivin'  a  gilravagin'  muckle  swine  oot  o'  the  or- 
chard ! "  replied  Jess  with  some  force  and  truth. 


102  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE    CUIF    BEFORE   THE    SESSION. 

"Called,  nomiuate,  summoned  to  appear,  ujion  this 
third  citation,  Alexander  Mowdiewort,  or  Moldieward,  to 
answer  for  the  sin  of  misca'iu'  the  minister  and  session  o' 
this  parish,  and  to  show  cause  why  he,  as  a  sectary  notour, 
should  not  demit,  depone,  and  resign  his  office  of  grave- 
digger  in  the  kirk-yard  of  this  parisli  with  all  the  emolu- 
ments, benefits,  and  profits  thereto  appertaining. — Officer, 
call  Alexander  Mowdiewort ! " 

Thus  Jacob  Kittle,  schoolmaster  and  session  clerk  of 
the  parish  of  Dullarg,  when  in  the  kirk  itself  that  rever- 
ent though  not  revered  body  was  met  in  full  convocation. 
There  was  presiding  the  Rev.  Erasmus  Teends  himself,  the 
minister  of  the  parish,  looking  like  a  turkey-cock  with  a 
crumpled  white  neckcloth  for  wattles.  He  was  known  in 
the  parish  as  Mess  John,  and  was  full  of  dignified  discourse 
and  excellent  taste  in  the  good  cheer  of  the  farmers.  He 
was  a  judge  of  nowt  [cattle],  and  a  connoisseur  of  black 
puddings,  which  he  considered  to  require  some  Isle  of  Man 
brandy  to  bring  out  their  own  proper  flavour. 

"  Alexander  Moldieward,  Alexander  Moldieward  ! "  cried 
old  Snuffy  Callum,  the  parish  beadle,  going  to  the  door. 
Then  in  a  lower  tone,  "  Come  an'  answer  for't,  Saunders." 

]\[owdicwort  and  a  large-boned,  grim-faced  old  woman 
of  fifty-five  were  close  beside  the  door,  but  Christie  cried 
past  them  as  if  the  summoned  persons  were  at  the  top  of 
the  Dullarg  Hill  at  the  nearest,  and  also  as  if  he  had  not 
just  risen  from  a  long  and  confidential  talk  with  them. 

It  was  within  the  black  interior  of  the  old  kirk  that 
the  session  met,  in  the  vard  of  which  Saunders  Mowdiewort 


THE  CUIP  BEFORE  THE  SESSION.  103 

had  dug  so  many  graves,  and  now  was  to  dig  no  more, 
unless  he  appeased  the  ire  of  the  minister  and  his  elders 
for  an  offence  against  the  majesty  of  their  court  and 
moderator. 

"Alexander  Moldieward  ! "  again  cried  the  old  "  bethcral," 
very  loud,  to  some  one  on  the  top  of  the  Dullarg  Hill — then 
in  an  ordinary  voice,  "come  avva',  Saunders  man,  you  and 
your  mither,  an'  dinna  keep  them  waitin' — they're  no 
chancy  when  they're  keepit." 

Saunders  and  his  mother  entered. 

"  Here  I  am,  guid  sirs,  an'  you  Mess  John,"  said  the 
grave-digger  very  respectfully,  "  an'  my  mither  to  answer 
for  me,  an'  guid  een  to  ye  a'." 

"Come  awa'.  Mistress  Mowdiewort,"  said  the  minister. 
"  Ye  hae  aye  been  a  guid  member  in  full  communion.  Ye 
never  gaed  to  a  prayer-meetin'  or  Whig  conventicle  in  yer 
life.  It's  a  sad  peety  that  ye  couldna  keep  your  flesh  an' 
bluid  frae  companyin'  an'  covenantin'  wi'  them  that  lichtly 
speak  o'  the  kirk." 

"  'Deed,  minister,  we  canna  help  oor  bairns — an'  'deed  ye 
can  speak  till  hirasel'.  He  is  of  age — ask  him  1  But  gin  )'e 
begin  to  be  ower  sair  on  the  callant,  I'se  e'en  hae  to  tak'  up 
the  cudgels  mysel'." 

With  this,  Mistress  Mowdiewort  put  her  hands  to  the 
strings  of  her  mutch,  to  feel  that  she  had  not  unsettled 
them;  then  she  stood  with  arms  akimbo  and  her  chest  well 
forward  like  a  grenadier,  as  if  daring  the  session  to  do  its 
worst. 

"I  have  a  word  with  you,"  said  Mess  John,  lowering  at 
her ;  "  it  is  told  to  me  that  you  keepit  your  son  back  from 
answering  the  session  when  it  was  his  bounden  duty  to  ap- 
pear on  the  first  summons.  Indeed,  it  is  only  on  a  warrant 
for  blasphemy  and  the  threat  of  deprivation  of  his  liveli- 
hood that  he  has  come  to-day.     What  have  you  to  say  that 


104  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

he  should  not  be  deprived  and  also  declarit  excommuni- 
cate ?  " 

"  Weel,  savin'  yer  presence,  Mess  John,"  said  Mistress 
Mowdiewort,  "  ye  see  the  way  o't  is  this :  Saunders,  my 
son,  is  a  blate  [shy]  man,  an'  he  canna  weel  speak  for  him- 
sel'.  I  thought  that  by  this  time  the  craiter  micht  hae 
gotten  a  wife  again  that  could  hae  spoken  for  him,  an'  had 
he  been  worth  the  weight  o'  a  bum  bee's  hind  leg  he  wad 
hae  had  her  or  this — an'  a  better  yin  nor  the  last  he  got. 
Aye,  but  a  sair  trouble  she  was  to  me ;  she  had  juist  yae  faut, 
Saunders's  first  wife,  an'  that  was  she  was  nae  use  ava  !  But 
it  was  a  guid  thing  he  was  grave-digger,  for  he  got  her 
buriet  for  naething,  an'  even  the  coffin  was  what  ye  micht 
ca'  a  second-hand  yin — though  it  had  never  been  worn, 
which  was  a  wunnerf  u'  thing.  Ye  see  the  way  o't  was  this : 
There  was  Creeshy  Galium,  the  brither  o'  yer  doitit 
[stupid]  auld  betheral  here,  that  canna  tak'  up  the  bulks  as 
they  should  (ye  should  see  my  Saunders  tak'  them  up  at 
the  Marrow  kirk) " 

"  Woman,"  said  the  minister,  "  we  dinna  want  to 
hear " 

"  Very  likely  no — but  ye  hae  gien  me  permission  to 
speak,  an'  her  that's  stannin  afore  yer  honourable  coort, 
brawly  kens  the  laws.  Elspeth  Mowdiewort  didna  soop  yer 
kirk  an  wait  till  yer  session  meetings  war  ower  for  thirty 
year  in  my  ain  man's  time  withoot  kennin'  a'  the  laws.  A 
keyhole's  a  most  amazin'  convenient  thing  by  whiles,  an'  I 
was  suppler  in  gettiu'  up  aif  my  hunkers  then  than  at  the 
present  time." 

"  Silence,  senseless  woman  !  "  said  the  session  clerk. 

"  I'll  silence  nane,  Jacob  Kittle  ;  silence  yersel',  for  I  ken 
what's  in  the  third  volume  o'  the  kirk  records  at  the  thirty- 
second  page ;  an'  gin  ye  dinna  baud  yer  wheesht,  dominie, 
ilka  wife  in  the  pairisli'll  ken  as  weel  as  me.    A  bonny  yin 


THE  CUIF  BEFORE  THE  SESSION.  105 

you  to  sit  cockin'  there,  an'  to  be  learnin'  a'  the  bairns  their 
caritehes  [catechism]." 

The  session  let  her  go  her  way  ;  her  son  meantime  stood 
passing  an  apologetic  hand  over  his  sleek  hair,  and  making 
deprecatory  motions  to  the  minister,  when  he  thought  that 
his  mother  was  not  looking  in  his  direction. 

"  Aye,  I  was  speakin'  aboot  Creeshy  Callum's  coffin  that 
cor  Saunders — the  muckle  tongueless  sumph  there  got  dirt 
cheap — ye  see  Creeshy  had  been  measured  for't,  but,  as  he 
had  a  short ,  leg  and  a  shorter,  the  joiner  measured  the 
wrang  leg — joiners  are  a'  dottle  stupid  bodies — an'  whan 
the  time  cam'  for  Creeshy  to  be  streekit,  man,  he  ivadnajit 
— na,  it  maun  hae  been  a  sair  disappointment  till  him — 
that  is  to  say — gin  he  war  in  the  place  whanr  he  could 
think  wi'  ony  content  on  his  coffin,  an'  that,  judgin'  by  his 
life  an'  conversation,  was  far  frae  bein'  a  certainty." 

"  Mistress  Mowdiewort,  I  hae  aye  respectit  ye,  an'  we 
are  a'  willin'  to  hear  ye  noo,  if  you  have  onything  to  say  for 
your  son,  but  you  must  make  no  insinuations  against  any 
members  of  the  court,  or  I  shall  be  compelled  to  call  the 
officer  to  put  you  out,"  said  the  minister,  rising  impress- 
ively with  his  hand  stretched  towards  Mistress  Elspeth 
Mowdiewort. 

But  Elspeth  Mowdiewort  was  far  from  being  impressed. 

"  Pit  me  oot,  Snuffy  Callum  ;  pit  me,  Eppie  Mowdiewort, 
cot !  Na,  na,  Snuffy's  maybe  no  very  wise,  but  he  kens 
better  nor  that.  Man,  Maister  Teends,  I  hae  kenned  the 
hale  root  an'  stock  o'  thae  Callums  frae  first  to  last ;  I 
hae  dung  Creeshy  till  he  couldna  stand — him  that  had  to  be 
twice  fitted  for  his  coffin ;  an'  Wull  that  was  hangit  at  Dum- 
fries for  sheep-stealin' ;  an'  Meg  that  was  servant  till  yersel — 
aye,  an'  a  bonny  piece  she  was  as  ye  ken  yersel' ;  an'  this  auld 
donnert  carle  that,  when  he  carries  up  the  Bibles,  ye  can 
hear  the  rattlin'  o'  his  banes,  till  it  disturbs  the  congrega- 


106  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

tion — I  liae  clung  them  a'  heeds  ower  heels  in  their  best 
days — an'  to  tell  me  at  the  hinner  end  that  ye  wad  ca'  in 
the  betheral  to  pit  oot  Elspeth  Mowdiewort !  Ye  maun 
surely  hae  an  awsome  ill  wall  at  the  puir  anld  craitur  !  " 

"  Mither,"  at  last  said  Saunders,  who  was  becoming 
anxious  for  his  grave-diggership,  and  did  not  wish  to  in- 
cense his  judges  further,  "  I'm  willin'  to  confess  that  I  had 
a  drap  ower  muckle  the  ither  nicht  when  I  met  in  wi'  the 
minister  an'  the  dominie ;  but,  gin  I  confess  it,  ye'll  no  gar 
me  sit  on  the  muckle  black  stool  i'  repentance  afore  a'  the 
fowk,  an'  me  carries  up  the  bulks  i'  the  Marrow  kirk." 

"  Alexander  Mowdiewort,  ye  spak  ill  o'  the  minister  an' 
session,  o'  the  kirk  an'  the  wholesome  order  o'  this  parish. 
We  have  a  warrant  for  your  apprehension  and  appearance 
which  we  might,  unless  moved  by  penitence  and  dutiful 
submission,  put  in  force.  Then  are  ye  aware  whaur  that 
wad  land  you — i'  the  jail  in  Kirkcudbright  toon,  my  man 
Saunders." 

But  still  it  was  the  dread  disgrace  of  the  stool  of  re- 
pentance that  bulked  most  largely  in  the  culprit's  imagi- 
nation. 

"  Na,  na,"  interjected  Mistress  Mowdiewort, "  nae  siccan 
things  for  ony  bairns  o'  mine.  Nae  son  o'  mine  sail  ever 
set  his  hurdles  on  the  like  o't." 

"  Be  silent,  woman  !  "  said  the  minister  severely ;  "  them 
that  will  to  black  stool  maun  to  black  stool.  Eebukit  an' 
chastised  is  the  law  an'  order,  and  rebukit  and  chastised 
shall  your  son  be  as  weel  as  ithers." 

"  'Deed,  yer  nae  sae  fond  o'  rebukin'  the  great  an'  the 
rich.  There's  that  young  speldron  frae  the  castle ;  its 
weel  kenned  what  he  is,  an'  hoo  muckle  he's  gotten  the 
weight  o'." 

"  He  is  not  of  our  communion,  and  not  subject  to  our 
discipline,"  began  the  minister. 


THE  CUIP  BEFORE  THE  SESSION.  107 

"  Weel,"  said  Elspeth,  "  weel,  let  him  alane.  lie's  a 
Pape,  an'  gaun  to  purgatory  at  ony  gate.  But  then  there's 
bletherin'  Jolmnie  o'  the  Dinnance  Mains — he's  as  fu'  as 
Solway  tide  ilka  Wednesday,  an'  no  only  speaks  agin  minis- 
ter an'  session,  as  maybe  my  Saunders  did  (an'  maybe  no), 
but  abuses  Providence,  an  the  bellman,  an'  even  blasphemes 
agin  the  fast  day — yet  I  never  heard  that  ye  had  him  cockit 
up  on  the  black  henbauks  i'  the  kirk.  But  then  he's  a  braw 
man  an'  keej^s  a  gig  !  " 

"  The  law  o'  the  kirk  is  no  respecter  of  persons,"  said 
Mess  John. 

"  No,  unless  they  are  heritors,"  said  Cochrane  of  the 
Holm,  who  had  a  pew  with  the  name  of  his  holding  paint- 
ed on  it. 

"  Or  members  o'  session,"  said  sleeky  Garment  of  the 
Kirkland,  who  had  twice  escaped  the  stool  of  repentance  on 
the  ground  that,  as  he  urged  upon  the  body,  "  gleds  [hawks] 
shouldna  pike  gleds  een  oot." 

"  Or  parish  dominies,"  said  the  session  clerk,  to  give 
solidarity  to  his  own  position. 

"  Weel,  I  ken  juist  this  if  nae  mair :  my  son  disna  sit 
on  ony  o'  yer  stools  o'  repentance,"  said  Eppie  Mowdiewort, 
demonstrating  the  truth  of  her  position  with  her  hand 
clenched  at  the  dominie,  who,  like  all  clerks  of  ecclesiastical 
assemblies,  was  exceedingly  industrious  in  taking  notes  to 
very  small  purpose.  "  Mair  nor  that,  Pm  maybe  an  un- 
learned woman,  but  Pve  been  through  the  Testaments  mair 
nor  yince — the  New  Testament  mair  nor  twice — an'  I  never 
saw  naethin'  aboot  stools  o'  repentance  in  the  hoose  o'  God. 
But  my  son  Saunders  was  readin'  to  me  the  ither  nicht  in  a 
fule  history  bulk,  an'  there  it  said  that  amang  the  Papists 
they  used  to  hae  fowk  that  didna  do  as  they  did  an'  believe 
as  they  believed.  Sae  wi'  a  lang  white  serk  on,  an'  a  can'le 
i'  their  hands,  they  set  them  up  for  the  rabble  fowk  to  clod 


108  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

at  them,  an'  whiles  they  tied  them  to  a  bit  stick  an'  set  hint 
[fire]  to  them — an  that's  the  origin  o'  yer  stool  o'  repent- 
ance.    What  say  ye  to  that?" 

Mrs.  Movvdievvort's  lecture  on  church  history  was  not  at 
all  appreciated  by  the  session.      The  minister  rose. 

"  We  will  close  this  sederunt,"  he  said  ;  "  we  can  mak' 
nocht  o'  these  two.  Alexander  Mowdiewort,  thou  art  re- 
moved from  thy  office  of  grave-digger  in  the  parish  kirk- 
yard,  and  both  thysel'  and  thy  mother  are  put  under  sus- 
pension for  contumacy ! " 

"Haith!"  said  Elspeth  Mowdiewort,  pushing  back  her 
hair;  "did  ye  ever  hear  the  mak'  o'  the  craitur.  I  haena 
been  within  his  kirk  door  for  twenty  year.  It's  a  guid  job 
that  a  body  can  aye  gang  doon  to  godly  Maister  Welsh, 
though  he's  an  awfu'  body  to  deave  [deafen]  ye  wi'  the 
Shorter  Quastions." 

"An  it's  a  guid  thing,"  added  Saunders,  "that  there's  a 
new  cemetery  a-makkiu'.  There's  no  room  for  anither 
dizzen  in  yer  auld  kailyaird  ony  way — an'  that  I'm  tellin'  ye. 
An'  I'm  promised  the  new  job  too.  Ye  can  howk  yer  ain 
graves  yersel's." 

"  Fash  na  yer  heid,  Saunders,  aboot  them,"  said  the  old 
betheral  at  the  door ;  "  it's  me  that's  to  be  grave-digger,  but 
ye  shall  howk  them  a'  the  same  in  the  mornin',  an'  get  the 
siller,  for  I'm  far  ower  frail — ye  can  hae  them  a'  by  afore 
nine  o'clock,  an'  the  minister  disna  pu'  up  his  bedroom 
blind  till  ten  ! " 

Thus  it  was  that  Saunders  Mowdiewort  ended  his  con- 
nection with  an  Erastian  establishment,  and  became  a  true 
and  complete  member  of  the  Marrow  kirk.  His  mother 
also  attended  with  exemplary  diligence,  but  she  was  much 
troubled  with  a  toothache  on  the  days  of  catechising,  and 
never  quite  conquered  her  unruly  member  to  the  last.  But 
this  did  not  trouble  herself  much — only  her  neighbours. 


WHEN  THE  KYE  COMES  HAME.  109 

CHAPTEE  XVIL 

WHEN"   THE    KYE    COMES   HAME. 

That  night  Saunders  went  up  over  the  hill  again,  dressed 
in  his  best.  He  was  not  a  proud  lover,  and  he  did  not  take 
a  rebuff  amiss ;  besides,  he  had  something  to  tell  Meg  Kis- 
sock.  When  he  got  to  Craig  Ronald,  the  girls  were  in  the 
byre  at  the  milking,  and  at  every  cow's  tail  there  stood  a 
young  man,  rompish  Ebie  Farrish  at  that  at  which  Jess  was 
milking,  and  quiet  Jock  Forrest  at  Meg's.  Ebie  was  Jok- 
ing and  keeping  up  a  fire  of  running  comment  with  Jess, 
whose  dark-browed  gipsy  face  and  blue-black  wisps  of  hair 
were  set  sideways  towards  him,  with  her  cheek  pressed  upon 
Lucky's  side,  as  she  sent  the  warm  white  milk  from  her 
nimble  fingers,  with  a  pleasant  musical  hissing  sound 
against  the  sides  of  the  milking-pail. 

Farther  up  the  byre,  Meg  leaned  her  head  against 
Crummy  and  milked  steadily.  Apparently  she  and  Jock 
Forrest  were  not  talking  at  all.  Jock  looked  down  and 
only  a  quiver  of  the  corner  of  his  beard  betrayed  that  he 
was  speaking.  Meg,  usually  so  outspoken  and  full  of  con- 
versation, appeared  to  be  silent ;  but  really  a  series  of  short, 
low-toned  sentences  was  being  rapidly  exchanged,  so  swiftly 
that  no  one,  standing  a  couple  of  yards  away,  could  have 
remarked  the  deft  interchange. 

Bat  as  soon  as  Saunders  Mowdiewort  came  to  the  door, 
Jock  Forrest  had  dropped  Crummy's  tail,  and  slipped  si- 
lently out  of  the  byre,  even  before  Meg  got  time  to  utter 
her  usual  salutation  of — 

"  Guid  een  to  ye,  Cuif !    Hoo's  a'  the  session  ?  " 

It  might  have  been  the  advent  of  Meg's  would-be  sweet- 
heart that  frightened  Jock  Forrest  away,  or  again  he  might 


110  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

have  been  in  the  act  of  going  in  any  case.  Jock  was  a 
quiet  man  who  walked  sedately  and  took  counsel  of  no  one. 
He  was  seldom  seen  talking  to  any  man,  never  to  a  woman 
— least  of  all  to  Meg  Kissock.  But  when  Meg  had  many 
"  lads  "  to  see  her  in  the  evening,  he  could  be  observed  to 
smile  an  inward  smile  in  the  depths  of  his  yellow  beard, 
and  a  queer  subterranean  chuckle  pervaded  his  great  body, 
so  that  on  one  occasion  Jess  looked  up,  thinking  that  there 
were  hens  roosting  in  the  baulks  overhead. 

Jess  and  Ebie  pursued  their  flirtation  steadily  and  harm- 
lessly, as  she  shifted  down  the  byre  as  cow  after  cow  was 
relieved  of  her  richly  perfumed  load,  rumbling  and  clink- 
ing neck  chains,  and  munching  in  their  head-stalls  all  the 
while.  Saunders  and  Meg  were  as  much  alone  as  if  they 
had  been  afloat  on  the  bosom  of  Loch  Grannoch. 

"  Ye  are  a  bonny  like  man,"  said  Meg,  "  to  tak'  yer 
minny  to  speak  for  ye  before  the  session.  Man,  I  wonder 
at  ye.     I  wonder  ye  didna  bring  her  to  coort  for  ye? " 

"  War  ye  ever  afore  the  Session,  Meg  ?  " 

"  Me  afore  the  session — ye're  a  fule  man,  but  ye  dinna 
ken  what  yer  sayin' — gin  I  thocht  ye  did " 

Here  Meg  became  so  violently  agitated  that  Flecky,  suf- 
fering from  the  manner  in  which  Meg  was  doing  her  duty, 
kicked  out,  and  nearly  succeeded  in  overturning  the  milk- 
pail.  Meg's  quickness  with  hand  and  knee  foiled  this  in- 
tention, but  Flecky  succeeded  quite  in  planting  the  edge  of 
her  hoof  directly  on  the  Cuif's  shin-bone.  Saunders  there- 
upon let  go  Flecky's  tail,  who  instautly  switched  it  into 
Meg's  face  with  a  crack  like  a  whip. 

"  Ye  great  muckle  senseless  bullion  ! "  exclaimed  Meg, 
"  gin  ye  are  nae  use  in  the  byre,  gang  oot  till  ye  can  learn  to 
keep  baud  o'  a  coo's  tail !  Ye  hae  nae  mair  sense  than  an 
Eerishman ! " 

There  was  a  pause.     The  subject  did  not  admit  of  dis- 


WHEN   THE  KYE  COMES  HAME.  m 

cussion.  Though  Saunders  was  a  cuif,  he  knew  when  to 
hold  his  tongue — at  least  on  most  occasions. 

"  An'  what  brocht  ye  here  the  nicht,  Cuif  ?  "  asked  Meg, 
who,  when  she  wanted  information,  knew  how  to  ask  it  di- 
rectly, a  very  rare  feminine  accomplishment. 

"  To  see  you,  Meg,  my  dawtie,"  replied  Saunders,  ten- 
derly edging  nearer. 

"  Yer  what?"  queried  Meg  with  asperity;  ''I  thoclit 
that  ye  had  aneuch  o'  the  session  already  for  caa'in'  honest 
fowk  names  ;  gin  ye  begin  wi'  me,  ye'll  get  on  the  stool  o' 
repentance  o'  yer  ain  accord,  afore  I  hae  dune  wi'  ye ! " 

"  But,  Meg,  I  hae  telled  ye  afore  that  I  am  sair  in  need 
o'  a  wife.  It's  byordinar'  [extraordinary]  lonesome  up  in 
the  lioose  on  the  hill.  An'  I'm  warned  oot,  Meg,  so  that 
I'll  look  nae  langer  on  the  white  stanes  o'  the  kirkyaird." 

"  Gin  ye  want  a  wife,  Saunders,  ye'll  hae  to  look  oot  for 
a  deef  yin,  for  it's  no  ony  or'nar'  woman  that  could  stand 
yer  mither's  tongue.  Na,  Saunders,  it  wad  be  like  leevin' 
i'  a  corn-mill  rinnin'  withoot  sheaves." 

"  Meg,"  said  Saunders,  edging  up  cautiously,  "  I  hae 
something  to  gie  ye !  " 

"  Aff  wi'  ye,  Cuif!  I'll  hae  nae  trokin'  wi'  lads  i'  the  byre 
— na,  there's  a  time  for  everything — especial  wi'  widowers, 
they're  the  warst  o'  a' — they  ken  ower  muckle.  My  granny 
used  to  say,  gin  Solomon  could  na  redd  oot  the  way  o'  a  man 
wi'  a  maid,  what  wad  he  hae  made  o'  the  way  o'  a  weed- 
ower  that's  lookin'  for  his  third  ?  " 


112  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A    DAUGHTER    OF   THE    PICTS. 

The  Cuif  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  as  if  to  keep 
them  away  from  the  dangerous  temptation  of  touching 
Meg.  He  stood  with  his  shoulder  against  the  wall  and 
chewed  a  straw. 

"What's  come  o'  Maister  Peden  thae  days?"  asked 
Meg. 

"  He's  maist  michty  unsettled  like,"  replied  Saunders, 
"  he's  for  a'  the  world  liiie  a  stirk  wi'  a  horse  cleg  on  him 
that  he  canna  get  at.  He  comes  in  an'  sits  doon  at  his 
desk,  an'  spreads  oot  his  bulks,  an'  ye  wad  think  that  he's 
gaun  to  be  at  it  the  leevelang  day.  But  afore  ye  hae  time 
to  turn  roon'  an'  get  at  yer  ain  wark,  the  craitur'll  be  oot 
again  an'  awa'  up  to  the  hill  wi'  a  bulk  aneath  his  oxter. 
Then  he  rises  early  in  the  mornin',  whilk  is  no  a  guid  sign 
o'  a  learned  man,  as  I  judge.  What  for  should  a  learned 
man  rise  afore  his  parritch  is  made  ?  There  maun  be  some- 
thing sair  wrang,  "  said  Saunders  Mowdiewort. 

"  Muckle  ye  ken  aboot  learned  men.  I  suppose,  ye  think 
because  ye  carry  up  the  Bible,  that  ye  ken  a'  that's  in't,"  re- 
turned Meg,  with  a  sneer  of  her  voice  that  might  have  turned 
milk  sour.  The  expression  of  the  emotions  is  fine  and  posi- 
tive in  the  kitchens  of  the  farm  towns  of  Galloway. 

"  Swish,  swish !  "  steadily  the  white  streams  of  milk 
shot  into  the  pails.  "  Jangle,  jangle  !  "  went  the  steel  head 
chains  of  the  cows.  Occasionally,  as  Jess  and  Meg  lifted 
their  stools,  they  gave  Flecky  or  Speckly  a  sound  clap  on 
the  back  with  their  hand  or  milking-pail,  with  the  sharp 
command  of  "  Stan'  aboot  there  ! "  "  Haud  up  ! "  "  Mind 
whaur  yer  comin' ! "    Such  expressions  as  these  Jess  and 


A   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   PICTS.  113 

Meg  could  interject  into  the  even  tenor  of  their  conversa- 
tion, in  a  way  that  might  have  been  disconcerting  in  dia- 
logues conducted  on  other  principles.  But  really  the  in- 
terruptions did  not  affect  Ebie  Farrish  or  any  other  of  the 
byre-visiting  young  menj  any  more  than  the  rattling  of  the 
chains,  as  Flecky  and  Sjoeckly  arranged  their  own  business 
at  the  end  devoted  to  imports.  These  sharp  words  of  com- 
mand were  part  of  the  nightly  and  morningly  ceremony  of 
the  "  milking "  at  every  farm.  The  cans  could  no  more 
froth  with  the  white  reaming  milk  without  this  accom- 
paniment of  slaps  and  adjurations  than  Speckly,  Flecky, 
and  the  rest  could  take  their  slow,  thoughtfully  considerate, 
and  sober  way  from  the  hill  pastures  into  the  yard  without 
Meg  at  the  gate  of  the  field  to  cry :  "  Hurley,  Hurley,  hie 
awa'  hame  ! "  to  the  cows  themselves ;  and  "  Come  awa'  bye 
wi'  them,  fetch  them,  Roger ! "  to  the  short-haired  collie, 
who  knew  so  much  better  than  to  go  near  their  flashing 
heels. 

The  conversation  in  the  byre  proceeded  somewhat  in 
this  way : 

Jess  was  milking  her  last  cow,  with  her  head  looking 
sideways  at  Ebie,  who  stood  plaiting  Marly's  tail  in  a  new- 
fangled fashion  he  had  brought  from  the  low  end  of  the 
parish,  and  which  was  just  making  its  way  among  young 
men  of  taste. 

"  Aye,  ye'll  say  so,  nae  doot,"  said  Jess,  in  reply  to  some 
pointed  compliment  of  her  admirer ;  "  but  I  ken  you  fowk 
frae  the  laich  end  ower  weel.  Ye  hae  practeesed  a'  that 
kind  o'  talk  on  the  lasses  doon  there,  or  ye  wadna  be  sae 
gleg  [ready]  wi't  to  me,  Ebie." 

This  is  an  observation  which  shows  that  Joss  could  not 
have  eaten  more  effectively  of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  had 
she  been  born  in  j\Iayfair. 

Ebie   laughed   a  laugh  half   of    depreciation,   half   of 


114  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

pleasure,  like  a  cat  that  has  its  back  stroked  and  its  tail 
pinched  at  the  same  time. 

"Na,  na,  Jess,  it  a'  comes  by  natur'.  I  never  likit  a 
lassie  afore  I  set  my  eeu  on  you,"  said  Ebie,  which,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  was  curious,  considering  that  he  had  an  as- 
sortment of  locks  of  hair — black,  brown,  and  lint-white — 
up  in  the  bottom  of  his  "  kist "  in  the  stable  loft  where  he 
slept.  He  kept  them  along  with  his  whipcord  and  best 
Sunday  pocket  knife,  and  sometimes  he  took  a  look  at  them 
when  he  had  to  move  them  in  order  to  get  his  green  neck- 
tie. "  I  never  really  likit  a  lass  afore,  Jess,  ye  may  believe 
me,  for  I  wasna  a  lad  to  rin  after  them.  But  whenever  I 
cam'  to  Craig  Ronald  I  saw  that  I  was  dune  for." 

'■'•  Stan''  hach^  ye  mucUe  slaMer!''''  said  Jess,  suddenly 
and  emphatically,  in  a  voice  that  could  have  been  heard  a 
hundred  yards  away.  Speckly  was  pushing  sideways  against 
her  as  if  to  crowd  her  off  her  stool. 

"  Say  ye  sae,  Ebie  ?  "  she  added,  as  if  she  had  not  pre- 
viously spoken,  in  the  low  even  voice  in  which  she  had 
spoken  from  the  first,  and  which  could  be  heard  by  Ebie 
alone.  In  the  country  they  conduct  their  love-making  in 
water-tight  compartments.  And  though  Ebie  knew  very 
well  that  the  Cuif  was  there,  and  may  have  suspected  Jock 
Forrest,  even  after  his  apparent  withdrawal,  so  long  as  they 
did  not  trouble  him  in  his  conversation  with  Jess,  he  paid 
no  heed  to  them,  nor  indeed  they  to  him.  No  man  is  his 
brother's  keeper  when  ho  goes  to  the  byre  to  plait  cows' 
tails. 

"  But  hoo  div  ye  ken,  or,  raithcr,  what  gars  ye  think  that 
ye're  no  the  first  that  I  hae  likit,  Jess  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  ken  fine,"  said  Jess,  who  was  a  woman  of  knowl- 
edge, and  had  her  share  of  original  sin. 

"  But  hoo  div  ye  ken  ?  "  persisted  Ebie. 

"  Fine  that,"  said  Jess,  diplomatically. 


A   DAUGHTER   OB^  THE   PICTS.  115 

"  But  tell  us,  Jess,"  said  Ebie,  who  was  in  high  good 
humour  at  these  fascinating  accusations. 

"  Oh,"  said  Jess,  with  a  quick  gipsy  look  out  of  her  fine 
dark  eyes,  "  brawly  I  kenned  on  Saturday  nicht  that  yon 
wasna  the  first  time  ye  had  kissed  a  lass  !  " 

"  Jess,"  said  Ebie,  "  ye're  a  wunnerfu'  woman  !  "  which 
was  his  version  of  Kalph's  "  You  are  a  witch."  In  Ebie's 
circle  "  witch  "  was  too  real  a  word  to  be  lightly  used,  so  he 
said  "  wunnerfu'  woman." 

He  went  on  looking  critically  at  Jess,  as  became  so  great 
a  connoisseur  of  the  sex. 

"  I  hae  seen,  maybes,  bonnier  faces,  as  ye  micht  say " 

'"'•  Haud  (iff,  wi'  ye  there;  mind  loliaur  yer  comin\  ye 
muchle  senseless  noiot !  "  said  Jess  to  her  Ayrshire  Ilornic, 
who  had  been  treading  on  her  toes. 

"  As  I  was  sayin',  Jess,  I  hae  seen " 

"  Can  ye  ?io  un7ierstau\  ye  setiseless  lump  9  "  cried  Jess, 
warningly ;  "  I'll  knock  the  heid  aff  ye,  gin  ye  dinna  drap 
it !  "  still  to  Hornie,  of  course. 

But  the  purblind  theorist  went  on  his  way :  "  I  hae  seen 
bonnier  faces,  but  no  mair  takin',  Jess,  than  yours.  It's  no 
aye  beauty  that  tak's  a  man,  Jess,  ye  see,  an'  the  lassies  that 
hae  dune  best  hae  been  plain-favoured  lassies  that  had  pleas- 
ant expressions " 

"  Tell  the  rest  to  Ilornie  gin  ye  like  !  "  said  Jess,  rising 
viciously  and  leaving  Ebie  standing  there  dumfounded. 
He  continued  to  hold  Hornie's  tail  for  some  time,  as  if  he 
wished  to  give  her  some  further  information  on  the  theory 
of  beauty,  as  understood  in  the  "  laich  "  end  of  the  parisli. 

Saunders  saw  him  from  afar,  and  cried  out  to  him  down 
the  length  of  the  byre, 

"  Are  ye  gaun  to  mak'  a  watch-guard  o'  that  coo's  tail, 
Ebie  ?— ye  look  fell  fond  o't." 

"  Ye  see  what  it  is  to  be  in  love,"  said  John  Scott,  the 


116  THE   LILAC   SUNI30NNET. 

lierd,  who  had  stolen  to  the  door  unperceived  and  so  had 
marked  Ebie's  discomfiture. 

"  He  disna  ken  the  difference  between  Jess  hersel'  an' 
Hornie  ! "  said  the  Cuif,  who  was  repaying  old  scores. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AT   THE    BAKN    END. 

In  a  little  while  the  cows  were  all  milked.  Saunders 
was  standing  at  the  end  of  the  barn,  looking  down  the  long 
valley  of  the  Grannoch  water.  There  was  a  swfeet  coolness 
in  the  air,  which  he  vaguely  recognized  by  taking  off  his  hat. 

"  Open  the  yett !  "  cried  Jess,  from  the  byre  door.  Saun- 
ders heard  the  clank  and  jangle  of  the  neck  chains  of  Hornie 
and  Specky  and  the  rest,  as  they  fell  from  their  necks,  loos- 
ened by  Jess's  hand.  The  sound  grew  fainter  and  fainter 
as  Jess  proceeded  to  the  top  of  the  byre  where  Marly  stood 
soberly  sedate  and  chewed  her  evening  cud.  Now  Marly 
did  not  like  Jess,  therefore  Meg  always  milked  her ;  she 
would  not,  for  some  special  reason  of  her  own,  "  let  doon  her 
milk  "  when  Jess  laid  a  finger  on  her.  This  night  she  only 
shook  her  head  and  pushed  heavily  against  Jess  as  she  came. 

"  Hand  up  there,  ye  thrawn  randy  !  "  said  Jess  in  byre 
tones. 

And  so  very  sulkily  ^larly  moved  out,  looking  for  Meg 
right  and  left  as  she  did  so.  She  had  her  feelings  as  well 
as  any  one,  and  she  was  not  the  first  who  had  been  annoyed 
by  the  sly,  mischievous  gipsy  with  the  black  eyes,  who  kept 
so  quiet  before  folk.  As  she  went  out  of  tlie  byre  door,  Jess 
laid  her  switch  smartly  across  Marly's  loins,  much  to  the 
loss  of  dignity  of  that  stately  animal,  who,  taking  a  hasty 


AT   THE    BARN   END.  117 

step,  slii^ped  on  the  threshold,  and  overtook  her  neighbours 
with  a  slow  resentment  gathering  in  her  matronl}'  breast. 

When  Saunders  Mowdiewort  heard  the  last  chain  drop 
in  the  byre,  and  the  strident  tones  of  Jess  exhorting  Marly, 
he  took  a  few  steps  to  the  gate  of  the  hill  pasture.  lie  had 
to  pass  along  a  short  home-made  road,  and  over  a  low  para- 
petless  bridge  constructed  simply  of  four  tree-trunks  laid 
parallel  and  covered  with  turf.  Then  he  dropped  the  bars 
of  the  gate  into  the  hill  pasture  with  a  clatter,  which  came 
to  Winsome's  ears  as  she  stood  at  her  wdndow  looking  out 
into  the  night.  She  was  just  thinking  at  that  moment  what 
a  good  thing  it  was  that  she  had  sent  back  Ealph  Peden's 
poenl.  So,  in  order  to  see  whether  this  were  so  or  not,  she 
repeated  it  all  over  again  to  herself. 

When  he  came  back  again  to  the  end  of  the  barn,  Saun- 
ders found  Jess  standing  there,  with  the  wistful  light  in 
her  eyes  which  that  young  woman  of  many  accomplish- 
ments could  summon  into  them  as  easily  as  she  could 
smile.  For  Jess  was  a  minx — there  is  no  denying  the  fact. 
Yet  even  slow  Saunders  admitted  that,  though  she  was  noth- 
ing to  Meg,  of  course,  still  there  was  something  original 
and  attractive  about  her — like  original  sin. 

Jess  was  standing  with  her  head  on  one  side,  putting  the 
scarlet  head  of  a  pop2\y  among  her  black  hair.  Jess  had 
strange  tastes,  which  would  be  called  artistic  nowadays  in 
some  circles.  Her  liking  was  always  bizarre  and  excellent, 
the  taste  of  the  primitive  Galloway  Pict  from  whom  she  was 
descended,  or  of  that  picturesque  Glenkens  warrior,  who  set 
a  rowan  bush  on  his  head  on  the  morning  when  he  was  to 
lead  the  van  at  the  battle  of  the  Standard.  Scotland  was 
beaten  on  that  great  occasion,  it  is  true  ;  but  have  the  chron- 
iclers, tvho  complain  of  the  place  of  Galloway  men  in  the 
ranks,  thought  how  much  more  terribly  Scotland  might 
have  been  beaten  had  (Jallowav  not  led  the  charije?     But 


118  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

this  is  written  just  because  Jess  Kissock,  a  Galloway  farm 
lassie,  looked  something  like  a  cast  back  to  the  primitive 
Pict  of  the  south,  a  fact  which  indeed  concerns  the  story 
not  at  all,  for  Saunders  Movvdiewort  had  not  so  much  as 
ever  heard  of  a  Pict. 

Jess  did  not  regard  Saunders  Mowdiewort  highly  at  any 
time.  He  was  one  of  Meg's  admirers,  but  after  all  he  was 
a  man,  and  one  can  never  tell.  It  was  for  this  reason  that 
she  put  the  scarlet  poppy  into  her  hair. 

She  meditated  "  I  maybe  haena  Meg's  looks  to  the  no- 
tion o'  some  folk,  but  I  mak'  a  heap  better  use  o'  the  looks 
that  I  hae,  an'  that  is  a  great  maitter ! " 

"  Saunders,"  said  Jess  softly,  going  up  to  the  Cuif  and 
pretending  to  pick  a  bit  of  heather  off  his  courting  coat. 
She  did  this  with  a  caressing  touch  which  soothed  the  wid- 
ower, and  made  him  wish  that  Meg  would  do  the  like.  He 
began  to  think  that  he  had  never  properly  valued  Jess. 

"Is  Meg  comin'  oot  again?"  Jess  inquired  casually,  the 
scarlet  poppy  set  among  the  blue-black  raven's  wings,  and 
brushing  his  beard  in  a  distracting  manner. 

Saunders  would  have  given  a  good  deal  to  be  able  to 
reply  in  the  affirmative,  but  Meg  had  dismissed  him  curtly 
after  the  milking,  with  the  intimation  that  it  was  time  he 
was  making  manseward.  As  for  her,  she  was  going  within 
doors  to  put  the  old  folks  to  bed. 

After  being  satisfied  on  this  point  the  manner  of  Jess 
was  decidedly  soothing.  That  young  woman  had  a  theory 
which  was  not  quite  complimentary  either  to  the  sense  or 
the  incorruptibility  of  men.  It  was  by  showing  an  interest 
in  them  and  malting  tliem  think  that  they  (or  at  least  the 
one  being  operated  upon)  are  the  greatest  and  most  fasci- 
nating persons  under  the  sun,  almost  anything  can  be  done. 
This  theory  has  been  acted  upon  with  results  good  and  bad, 
in  other  places  besides  the  barn  end  of  Craig  Ronald. 


AT   THE   BARN   END.  119 

"They're  a'  weel  at  the  Manse?"  said  Jess,  tentatively. 

"  Oil  aj^e,"  said  Saunders,  looking  round  the  barn  end  to 
see  if  Meg  could  see  him.  Satisfied  that  Meg  was  safe  in 
bed,  Saunders  put  his  hand  on  Jess's  shoulder — the  sleek- 
haired,  candle-greased  deceiver  that  he  was. 

"  Jess,  ye're  bonny,"  said  he. 

"  Na,  na,"  said  Jess,  very  demurely,  "  it's  no  me  that's 
bonny — its  Meg  !  " 

Jess  was  still  looking  at  him,  and  interested  in  getting 
all  the  rough  wool  off  the  collar  of  his  homespun  coat. 

The  Samson  of  the  graveyard  felt  his  strength  deserting 
him. 

"  Davert,  Jess  lass,  but  it's  a  queer  thing  that  it  never 
cam  across  me  that  ye  were  bonny  afore  ! " 

Jess  looked  down.  The  Cuif  thought  that  it  was  be- 
cause she  was  shy,  and  his  easy  heart  went  out  to  her ;  but 
had  he  seen  the  smile  that  was  wasted  on  a  hopping  spar- 
row beneath,  and  especially  the  wicked  look  in  the  black 
eyes,  he  might  have  received  some  information  as  to  the 
real  sentiments  of  girls  who  put  red  poppies  in  their  hair 
in  order  to  meet  their  sisters'  sweethearts  at  the  barn 
end. 

"  Is  the  young  minister  aye  bidin'  at  the  Manse?"  asked 
Jess. 

"Aye,  he  is  that !"  said  Saunders,  "he's  a  nice  chiel' 
yon.  Ye'll  see  him  whiles  ower  by  here.  They  say — that  is 
Manse  Bell  says — that  he's  real  fond  o'  yer  young  mistress 
here.     Ken  ye  ocht  aboot  that,  Jess  ?  " 

"Hoots,  havers,  our  young  mistress  is  no  for  penniless 
students,  I  wot  weel.  There'll  be  nocht  in't,  an'  sae  ye 
can  tell  Bell  o'  the  Manse,  gin  you  aii'  her  is  so  chief  [in- 
timate]." 

"Very  likely  ye're  richt.  There'll  be  nocht  in't,  Vm 
thinkin' — at  least  on  her  side.      But  what  o'  the   voung 


120  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

man  ?  D'ye  think  he's  sair  ta'en  up  aboot  Mistress  Winsome  ? 
Meg  was  sayin'  so." 

"  Meg  thinks  there's  naebody  worth  lookin'  at  in  the 
warl'  but  hersel'  and  Mistress  Winifred  Charteris,  as  she 
ca's  hersel';  but  there's  ithers  thinks  different." 

"  What  hae  ye  against  her,  Jess?  I  thocht  that  she's  a 
fell  fine  young  leddy." 

"  Oh  she's  richt  eneuch,  but  there's  bonny  lasses  as  weel 
as  her ;  an'  maybe,  gin  young  Maister  Peden  comes  ower  by 
to  Craig  Konald  to  see  a  lass  unkenned  o'  a' — what  faut 
wad  there  be  in  that  ?  " 

"  Then  it's  Meg  he  comes  to  see,  and  no'  the  young  mis- 
tress?" said  the  alarmed  grave-digger. 

"  Maybes  aye  an'  maybes  no — there's  bonny  lasses  forby 
Meg  Kissock  for  them  that  hae  gotten  een  in  their  heads." 

"  Wi'  Jess  !     Is't  yersel'  ?  "  said  Saunders. 

Jess  was  discreetly  silent. 

"  Ye'll  no  tell  onybody,  wull  ye,  ]\Iaister  Mowdiewort?" 
she  said  anxiously. 

To  Saunders  this  was  a  great  deal  better  than  being 
called  a  "  Cuif." 

"  Na,  Jess,  lass,  I'll  no  tell  a  soul — no  yin." 

"  No'  even  Meg— mind  !  "  repeated  Jess,  who  felt  that 
this  was  a  vital  point. 

So  Saunders  promised,  though  he  had  intended  to  do  so 
on  the  first  opportunity. 

"  Mind,  if  ye  do,  I'll  never  gie  ye  a  hand  wi'  Meg  again 
as  lang  as  I  leeve  !  "  said  Jess  emphatically. 

"Jess,  d'ye  think  she  likes  me?"  asked  the  Avidower  in 
a  hushed  whisper. 

"Saunders,  I'm  juist  snre  o't,"  replied  Jess  with  great 
readiness.     "  But  she's  no  yin  o'  the  kind  to  let  on." 

"  Na,"  groaned  Saunders,  "  I  wuss  to  peace  she  was. 
But  ye  mind  me  that  I  gat  a  letter  frae  the  young  min- 


AT  THE  BARN  END.  121 

ister  that  I  was  to  gie  to  Meg.  But  as  you're  the  yin  he 
comes  to  see,  I  maun  as  weel  gie't  direct  to  yoursel'." 

"It  wad  be  as  weel,"  said  Jess,  with  a  strange  sort  of 
sea-fire  like  moonshine  in  her  eyes. 

Saunders  passed  over  a  j^aper  to  her  readily,  and  Jess, 
with  her  hand  still  on  his  coat-collar,  in  a  way  that  Meg 
had  never  used,  thanked  him  in  her  own  way. 

"  Juist  bide  a  wee,"  she  said ;  "  I'll  be  wi'  ye  in  a 
minute ! " 

Jess  hurried  down  into  the  old  square-plotted  garden, 
which  ran  up  to  the  orchard  trees.  She  soon  found  a  moss- 
rose  bush  from  which  she  selected  a  bud,  round  which  the 
soft  feathery  envelope  was  just  beginning  to  curl  back. 
Then  she  went  round  by  the  edge  of  the  brook  which  keeps 
damp  one  side  of  the  orchard,  where  she  found  some  single 
stems  of  forget-me-nots,  shining  in  the  dusk  like  beaded 
turquoise.  She  pulled  some  from  the  bottom  of  the  half- 
dry  ditch,  and  setting  the  pale  moss-rosebud  in  the  middle, 
she  bound  the  whole  together  with  a  striped  yellow  and 
green  withe.  Then  snipping  the  stacks  with  her  pocket 
scissors,  she  brought  the  posy  to  Saunders,  with  instructions 
to  wrap  it  in  a  dock-leaf  and  never  to  let  his  hands  touch  it 
the  whole  way. 

Saunders,  dazed  and  fascinated,  forgetful  even  of  Meg 
and  loyalty,  promised.  The  glamour  of  Jess,  the  g3'psy, 
was  upon  him. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  say,"  he  asked. 

"  Say  its  frae  her  that  he  sent  the  letter  to ;  he'll  ken 
brawly  that  Meg  hadna  the  gumption  to  send  him  that ! " 
said  Jess  candidly. 

Saunders  said  his  good-night  in  a  manner  which  would 
certainly  have  destroyed  all  his  chances  with  Meg  had  she 
witnessed  the  parting.  Then  he  stolidly  tramped  away 
down  the  loaning. 


122  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

Jess  called  after  him,  struck  with  a  sudden  thought. 
"  See  that  ye  dinna  gie  it  to  him  afore  the  minister," 

Then  she  put  her  hands  beneath  her  apron  and  walked 
home  meditating.  "  To  be  a  man  is  to  be  a  fool,"  said  Jess 
Kissock,  putting  her  whole  experience  into  a  sentence.  Jess 
was  a  daughter  of  the  cot ;  put  then  she  was  also  a  daugh- 
ter of  Eve,  who  had  not  even  so  much  as  a  cot. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  DAEK-BROWED    EGYPT." 

As  soon  as  Jess  was  by  herself  in  the  empty  byre,  to 
which  she  withdrew  herself  with  the  parcel  which  the 
faithful  and  trustworthy  Cuif  had  entrusted  to  her,  she  lit 
the  lantern  which  always  stood  in  the  inside  of  one  of  the 
narrow  triangular  wickets  that  admitted  light  into  the  byre. 
Sitting  down  on  the  small  hay  stall,  she  pulled  the  packet 
from  her  pocket,  looked  it  carefully  over,  and  read  the  sim- 
ple address,  "  In  care  of  Margaret  Kissock."  There  was  no 
other  writing  npon  the  outside. 

Opening  the  envelope  carefully,s  he  let  the  light  of  the 
byre  lantern  rest  on  the  missive.  It  was  written  in  a  deli- 
cate but  strong  handwriting — the  hand  of  one  accustomed 
to  forming  the  smaller  letters  of  ancient  tonglies  into  a  cur- 
rent script.  "  To  Mistress  Winifred  Charteris,"  it  ran. 
"  Dear  Lady :  That  I  have  offended  you  by  the  hastiness  of 
my  words  and  the  unforgivable  wilfulness  of  my  actions,  I 
know,  but  cannot  forgive  myself.  Yet,  knowing  the  kind- 
ness of  your  disposition,  I  have  thought  that  you  might  be 
better  disposed  to  pardon  me  than  I  myself.  For  I  need 
not  tell  you,  what  you  already  know,  that  the  sight  of  you 


"DARK-BROWED  EGYPT."  123 

is  dearer  to  me  than  the  liglit  of  the  morning.  You  are 
connected  in  my  mind  and  heart  with  all  that  is  best  and 
loveliest.  I  need  not  tell  now  that  I  love  you,  for  you  know 
that  I  love  the  string  of  your  bonnet.  Nor  am  I  asking  for 
anything  in  return,  save  only  that  you  may  know  my  heart 
and  not  be  angry.  This  I  send  to  ease  its  pain,  for  it  has 
been  crying  out  all  night  long,  '  Tell  her — tell  her ! '  So 
I  have  risen  early  to  write  this.  Whether  I  shall  send  it  or 
no,  I  cannot  tell.  There  is  no  need,  Winsome,  to  answer 
it,  if  you  will  only  let  it  fall  into  your  heart  and  make  no 
noise,  as  a  drop  of  water  falls  into  the  sea.  Whether  you 
will  be  angry  or  not  I  cannot  tell,  and,  truth  to  tell  you, 
sweetheart,  I  am  far  past  caring.  I  am  coming,  as  I  said, 
to  Craig  Ronald  to  see  your  grandmother,  and  also,  if  you 
will,  to  see  you.  I  shall  not  need  you  to  tell  me  whether 
you  are  angered  with  a  man's  love  or  no ;  I  shall  know  that 
before  you  speak  to  me.  But  keep  a  thought  for  one  that 
loves  you  beyond  all  the  world,  and  as  if  there  were  no 
world,  and  naught  but  God  and  you  and  him.  For  this 
time  fare  you  well.      Ralph  Peden." 

Jess  turned  it  over  with  a  curious  look  on  her  face. 
"  Aye,  he  has  the  grip  o't,  an'  she  micht  get  him  gin  she 
war  as  clever  as  Jess  Kissock ;  but  him  that  can  love  yin 
weel  can  lo'e  anither  better,  an'  I  can  keep  them  sindry 
[asunder].  I  saw  him  first,  an'  he  spak  to  me  first.  '  Ye're 
no  to  think  o'  him,'  said  my  mither.  Think  o'  him  !  I  hae 
thocht  o' nocht  else.  Think  of  him!  Since  when  is  thinkin' 
a  crime?  A  lass  maun  juist  do  the  best  she  can  for  hersel', 
be  she  cotman's  dochter  or  laird's.  Love's  a'  yae  thing — 
kitchen  or  byre,  but  or  ben.  See  a  lad,  lo'e  a  lad,  get  a  lad, 
keep  a  lad  !  Ralph  Peden  will  kiss  me  afore  the  year's  cot," 
she  said  with  determination. 

So  in  the  corner  of  the  byre,  among  the  fragrant  hay 
and  fresli-cut  clover,  Jess  Kissock  the  cottar's  lass  prophe- 


121  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

sied  out  of  her  wayward  soul,  baring  her  intentions  to  her- 
self as  perhaps  her  sister  in  boudoir  hushed  and  perfumed 
might  not  have  done.  There  are  Ishmaels  also  among 
women,  whose  hand  is  against  every  woman,  and  who  stand 
for  their  own  rights  to  the  man  on  whom  they  have  set 
their  love ;  and  the  strange  thing  is,  that  such  are  by  no 
means  the  worst  of  women  either. 

Stranger  still,  so  strong  and  dividing  to  soul  and  mar- 
row is  a  clearly  defined  purpose  and  deterrainately  selfish, 
that  such  women  do  not  often  fail.  And  indeed  Jess  Kis- 
sock,  sitting  in  the  hay-neuk,  with  her  candle  in  the  lantern 
throwing  patterns  on  the  cobwebby  walls  from  the  tiny  per- 
forations all  round,  made  a  perfectly  correct  prophecy. 
Ealph  Peden  did  indeed  kiss  her,  and  that  of  his  own  free 
will  as  his  love  of  loves  within  a  much  shorter  space  of  time 
than  a  year. 

Strangely  also,  Jess  the  gipsy,  the  dark -browed  Pictess, 
was  neither  angry  nor  jealous  when  she  read  Kalph's  letter 
to  Winsome.  According  to  all  rules  she  ought  to  have  been. 
She  even  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  she  was.  But  the 
sight  of  Ralph  writing  to  Winsome  gave  no  pang  to  her 
heart.  Nor  did  this  argue  that  she  did  not  love  really  and 
passionately.  She  did ;  but  Jess  had  in  her  the  Napoleon 
instinct.  She  loved  obstacles.  So  thus  it  was  what  she  com- 
muned with  herself,  sitting  with  her  hand  on  her  brow,  and 
her  swarthy  tangle  of  hair  falling  all  about  her  face.  All 
women  have  a  pose  in  which  they  look  best.  Jess  looked 
best  leaning  forward  with  her  elbows  on  her  knees.  Had 
there  been  a  fender  at  her  father's  fireside  Jess  would  have 
often  sat  on  it,  for  there  is  a  dangerous  species  of  girl  that, 
like  a  cat,  looks  best  sitting  on  a  fender.  And  such  a  girl  is 
always  aware  of  the  circumstance. 

"  He  has  written  to  Winsome,"  Jess  communed  with 
herself.     "  Well,  he  shall   write   to  me.     He  loves  her,  he 


"DARK-BROWED  EGYPT."  125 

thinks ;  then  in  time  he  shall  love  me,  and  be  sure  perfectly 
o't.  Let  me  see.  Gin  she  had  gotten  this  letter,  she 
wadna  hae  answered  it.  So  he'll  come  the  morn,  an'  he'll 
no  say  a  word  to  her  aboot  the  letter.  Na,  he'll  juist  look 
if  she's  pleased  like,  and  gin  that  gomeral  Saunders  gied 
him  the  rose,  he'll  no  be  ill  to  please  eyther  !  But  afore  he 
gangs  hame  he  shall  see  Jess  Kissock,  an'  hear  frae  her 
aboot  the  young  man  frae  the  Castle  ! "  Jess  took  another 
look  at  the  letter.  "  It's  a  bonny  hand  o'  write,"  she  said, 
"  but  Dominie  Cairnoclian  learned  me  to  write  as  weel  as 
onybody,  an'  some  day  he'll  write  to  me.  I'se  no  be  byre 
lass  a'  my  life.  Certes  no.  There's  oor  Meg,  noo ;  she'll 
mairry  some  ignorant  landward  nuxn,  an'  leeve  a'  her  life  in 
a  cot  hoose,  wi'  a  dizzen  weans  tum'lin'  aboot  her !  What 
yin  canua  learn,  anither  can,"  continued  Jess.  "  I  hae  lis- 
tened to  graun'  fowk  speakin',  an'  I  can  speak  as  weel  as  ony- 
body. I'll  disgrace  nane.  Gin  I  canna  mak'  mysel'  fit  for 
kirk  or  manse,  my  name's  no  Jess  Kissock.  I'm  nae  coun- 
try lump,  to  be  left  where  I'm  set  doon,  like  a  milkin'  creepie 
[stool],  an'  kickit  ower  when  they  are  dune  wi'  me." 

It  is  of  such  women,  born  to  the  full  power  and  passion 
of  sex,  and  with-  all  the  delicate  keenness  of  the  feminine 
brain,  utterly  without  principle  or  scruple,  that  the  Cleo- 
patras  are  made.  For  black-browed  Egypt,  the  serpent  of 
old  Nile,  can  sit  in  a  country  byre,  and  read  a  letter  to  an- 
other woman.     For  Cleopatra  is  not  history  ;  she  is  type. 


12G  THE   LILAC   SUNP.ONNET. 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE    RETURN    OF   EBIE    FARRISH. 

Now  Ebie  Farrish  had  been  over  at  the  Nether  Crae 
seeing  the  kissies  there  in  a  friendly  way  after  the  scene  in 
the  byre,  for  Galloway  ploughmen  were  the  most  general  of 
lovers.  Ebie  considered  it  therefore  no  disloyalty  to  Jess 
that  he  would  dis^^lay  his  watch-guard  and  other  accom- 
plishments to  the  young  maids  at  the  Crae.  Nor  indeed 
would  Jess  herself  have  so  considered  it.  It  was  only  Meg 
who  was  so  particular  that  she  did  not  allow  such  little  prac- 
tice excursions  of  this  kind  on  the  part  of  her  young  men. 

When  Ebie  started  to  go  home,  it  was  Just  midnight. 
As  he  came  over  the  Grannoch  bridge  he  saw  the  stars  re- 
flected in  the  water,  and  the  long  stretches  of  the  loch 
glimmering  pearl  grey  in  the  faint  starlight  and  the  late 
twilight.  He  thought  they  looked  as  if  they  were  running 
down  hill.  His  thoughts  and  doings  that  day  and  night 
had  been  earthly  enough.  He  had  no  regrets  and  few  as- 
pirations. But  the  coolness  of  the  twilight  gave  him  the 
sense  of  being  a  better  man  than  he  knew  himself  to  be. 
Ebie  went  to  sit  under  the  ministrations  of  the  Reverend 
Erasmus  Teends  at  twelve  by  the  clock  on  Sunday.  He 
was  a  regular  attendant.  He  always  was  spruce  in  his  Sun- 
day blacks.  He  placed  himself  in  the  hard  pews  so  that  he 
could  have  a  view  of  his  flame  for  the  time  being.  As  he 
listened  to  the  minister  he  thought  sometimes  of  her  and  of 
his  work,  and  of  the  turnip-hoeing  on  the  morrow,  but 
oftenest  of  Jess,  who  went  to  the  Marrow  kirk  over  the  hills. 
He  thought  of  the  rise  of  ten  shillings  that  he  would  ask  at 
the  next  half-year's  term,  all  as  a  matter  of  course — just  as 
Robert  Jamieson  the  large  farmer,  thought  of  the  rent  day 
and  the  market  ordinary,  and  bringing  liome  the  "  muckle 


THE   RETURN   OP  ERIE  FARRISII.  127 

greybeard  "  full  of  excellent  Glenlivat  from  the  Cross  Keys 
on  Wednesday.  Above  them  both  the  Reverend  Erasmus 
Teends  droned  and  drowsed,  as  Jess  Kissock  said  with  her 
faculty  for  expression,  "  bummelin'  awa  like  a  bubbly-Jock 
or  a  bum-bee  in  a  bottle." 

But  coming  home  in  the  coolness  of  this  night,  the 
ploughman  was,  for  the  time  being,  purged  of  the  grosser 
humours  which  come  naturally  to  strong,  coarse  natures, 
with  physical  frames  ramping  with  youth  and  good  feed- 
ing. He  stood  long  looking  into  the  lane  water,  wliich 
glided  beneath  the  bridge  and  away  down  to  the  Dee  with- 
out a  sound. 

He  saw  where,  on  the  broad  bosora  of  the  loch,  the  still- 
ness lay  grey  and  smooth  like  glimmering  steel,  with  little 
puffs  of  night  wind  purling  across  it,  and  disappearing  like 
breath  from  a  new  knife-blade.  He  saw  where  the  smooth 
satin  plane  rippled  to  the  first  water-break,  as  the  stream 
collected  itself,  deep  and  black,  with  the  force  of  the  water 
behind  it,  to  flow  beneath  the  bridge.  When  Ebie  Farrish 
came  to  the  bridge  he  was  a  material  Galloway  ploughman, 
satisfied  with  his  night's  conquests  and  chewing  the  cud  of 
their  memory. 

He  looked  over.  He  saw  the  stars,  which  were  perfectly 
reflected  a  hundred  yards  away  on  the  smooth  expanse,  first 
waver,  then  tremble,  and  lastly  break  into  a  myriad  delicate 
shafts  of  light,  as  the  water  quickened  and  gathered.  He 
spat  in  the  water,  and  thought  of  trout  for  breakfast.  But 
tlie  long  roar  of  the  rapids  of  the  Dee  came  over  the  hill, 
and  a  feeling  of  stillness  with  it,  weird  and  remote.  Un- 
certain lights  shot  hither  and  thither  under  the  bridge,  in 
strange  gleams  of  reflection.  The  ploughman  was  awed. 
He  continued  to  gaze.  The  stillness  closed  in  upon  him. 
The  aromatic  breath  of  the  pines  seemed  to  cool  him  and 
remove  him  from  himself.     He  had  a  sense  that  it  was  Sab- 


128  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

bath  morning,  and  that  he  had  just  washed  his  face  to  go 
to  church.  It  was  the  nearest  thing  to  worship  he  had  ever 
known.  Such  moments  come  to  the  most  material,  and  are 
their  theology.  Far  oS.  a  solitary  bird  whooped  and  whin- 
nied. It  sounded  mysterious  and  unknown,  the  cry  of  a  lost 
soul.  Ebie  Farrish  wondered  where  he  would  go  to  when 
he  died.  He  thought  this  over  for  a  little,  and  then  he 
concluded  that  it  were  better  not  to  dwell  on  this  subject. 
But  the  crying  on  the  lonely  hills  awed  him.  It  was  only  a 
Jack  snipe  from  whose  belated  nest  an  owl  had  stolen  two 
eggs.  But  it  was  Ebie  Farrish's  good  angel.  He  resolved 
that  he  would  go  seldomer  to  the  village  public  o'  nights, 
and  that  he  would  no  more  find  cakes  and  ale  sweet  to  his 
palate.  It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  on  Saturday 
night  he  would  be  there,  yet  what  he  heard  and  saw  on 
Grannoch  Bridge  opened  his  sluggish  eyes.  Of  a  truth 
there- was  that  in  the  world  which  had  not  been  there  for 
him  before.  It  is  to  Jess  Kissock's  credit,  that  when  Ebie 
was  most  impressed  by  the  stillness  and  most  under  the 
spell  of  the  night,  he  thought  of  her.  He  was  only  an  ig- 
norant, godless,  good-natured  man,  who  was  no  more  moral 
than  he  could  help ;  but  it  is  both  a  testimonial  and  a  com- 
pliment when  such  a  man  thinks  of  a  woman  in  his  best 
and  most  solemn  moments. 

At  that  moment  Jess  Kissock  was  putting  Winsome 
Charteris's  letter  into  her  pocket. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  poor,  ignorant  Ebie,  with  'his 
highly  developed  body  and  the  unrestrained  and  irregular 
propensities  of  his  rudimentary  soul,  was  nearer  the  Al- 
mighty that  night  than  his  keen-witted  and  scheming 
sweetheart. 

A  trout  leaped  in  the  calm  water,  and  Ebie  stopped 
thinking  of  the  eternities  to  remember  where  he  had  set  a 
line.     Far   off   a   cock   crew,   and   the   well-known   sound 


THE   RETURN   OF   EBIE    FARRISU.  1^9 

warned  Ebie  that  he  had  better  be  drawing  near  liis  bed. 
He  raised  himself  from  the  copestone  of  the  parapet,  and 
solemnly  tramped  his  steady  way  up  to  the  "  onstead  "  of 
Craig  Ronald,  which  took  shape  before  him  as  he  advanced 
like  a  low,  grey-bastioned  castle.  As  he  entered  the  low 
square  on  his  way  across  to  the  stable  door  he  was  surprised 
to  notice  a  gleam  of  light  in  the  byre.  Ebie  thought  that 
some  tramps  were  trespassing  on  the  g-ood  nature  of  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  and  he  had  the  feeling  of  loyalty  to 
his  master's  interests  which  distinguished  the  Gallowav 
ploughman  of  an  older  time.  He  was  mortally  afraid  of 
bogles,  and  would  not  have  crossed  the  kirkyard  after  the 
glimmer  of  midnight  without  seeing  a  dozen  corpse-candles ; 
but  tramps  were  quite  another  matter,  for  Ebie  was  not  in 
the  least  afraid  of  mortal  man — except  only  of  Allan  AVelsh, 
the  Marrow  minister. 

So  he  stole  on  tiptoe  to  the  byre  door,  circumnavigating 
the  "  wicket,"  which  poured  across  the  yard  its  tell-tale 
plank  of  light.  Standing  within  the  doorway  and  looking 
over  the  high  wooden  stall,  tenanted  in  winter  by  Jock,  the 
shaggy  black  bull,  Ebie  saw  Jess  Kissock,  lost  in  her 
dreams.  The  lantern  was  set  on  the  floor  in  front  of  her. 
The  candle  had  nearly  burned  down  to  the  socket.  Jess's 
eyes  were  large  and  brilliant.  It  seemed  to  Ebie  Farrish 
that  they  were  shining  with  light.  Her  red  lips  were 
pouted,  and  there  was  a  warm,  unwonted  flush  on  her  cheeks. 
In  her  dreams  she  was  already  mistress  of  a  house,  and  con- 
sidering how  she  would  treat  her  servants.  She  would  treat 
them  kindly  and  well.  She  had  heard  her  sister,  who  was 
servant  at  Earlston,  tell  how  the  ladies  there  treated  their 
servants.  Jess  meant  to  do  just  the  same.  She  meant  to 
be  a  real  lady.  Ambition  in  a  woman  has  a  double  chance, 
for  adaptation  is  inborn  along  with  it.  Most  men  do  not 
succeed  very  remarkably  in  anything,  because  at  heart  they 


130  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNBT. 

do  not  believe  in  themselves,  Jess  did.  It  was  her  heri- 
tage from  some  Pict,  who  held  back  under  the  covert  of  his 
native  woods  so  long  as  the  Roman  tortoise  crept  along, 
shelved  in  iron,  but  who  drave  headlong  into  a  gap  with  all 
his  men,  when  some  accident  of  formation  showed  the  one 
chance  given  in  a  long  day's  march. 

Ebie  thought  he  had  never  seen  Jess  so  beautiful.  It 
had  never  struck  him  before  that  Jess  was  really  hand- 
somer than  Meg.  He  only  knew  that  there  was  a  sting- 
ing wild-fruit  fragrance  about  Jess  and  her  rare  favours 
he  had  never  experienced  in  the  company  of  any  other 
woman.     And  he  had  a  large  experience. 

Was  it  possible  that  she  knew  that  he  was  out  and  was 
waiting  for  him?  In  this  thought,  which  slowly  entered  in 
upon  his  astonishment,  the  natural  Ebie  forced  himself  to 
the  front. 

"  Jess  ! "  he  exclaimed  impulsively,  taking  a  step  within 
the  door.  Instantly,  as  though  some  night-flying  bat  had 
flown  against  it,  the  candle  went  out — a  breath  wafted  by 
him  as  lightly  and  as  silently  as  a  snowy  owl  flies  home  in 
the  twilight.  A  subtle  something,  the  influence  of  a  pres- 
ence, remained,  which  mingled  strangely  with  the  odours 
of  the  clover  in  the  neuk,  and  the  sour  night-smell  of  the 
byre.  Again  there  was  a  perfect  silence.  Without,  a  corn- 
crake ground  monotonously.  A  rat  scurried  along  the 
rafter.  Ebie  in  the  silence  and  the  darkness  had  almost 
persuaded  himself  that  he  had  been  dreaming,  when  his 
foot  clattered  against  something  which  fell  over  on  the  cob- 
ble-stones that  paved  the  byre.  He  stopped  and  picked  it 
up.  It  was  the  byre  lantern.  The  wick  was  still  glowing 
crimson  when  he  opened  the  little  tin  door.  As  he  looked 
it  drew  slowly  upward  into  a  red  star,  and  winked  itself 
out.  It  was  no  dream.  Jess  had  been  in  the  byre.  To 
meet  whom  ?  he  asked  himself. 


THE   RETURN    OF  EBIE   FARRISII.  131 

Ebie  went  thoughtfully  up-stairs,  climbing  the  stable 
ladder  as  the  first  twilight  of  the  dawn  was  slowly  pouring 
up  from  beneath  into  a  lake  of  light  and  colour  in  the  east, 
as  water  gushes  from  a  strong  well-eye. 

"  Ye're  a  nice  boy  comin'  to  yer  bed  at  this  time  o'  the 
moruin',''  said  Jock  Forrest  from  his  bunk  at  the  other 
side. 

"Nicht-wanderin'  bairns  needs  skelpin' ! "  remarked 
Jock  Gordon,  who  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  a  vacant  stall 
beneath. 

"  Sleep  yer  ain  sleeps,  ye  pair  o'  draft-sacks,  in  yer 
beds,"  answered  Ebie  Farrish  without  heat  and  simply  as  a 
conversational  counter. 

He  did  not  know  that  he  was  quoting  the  earliest  Eng- 
lish classic.     He  had  never  heard  of  Chaucer. 

"  What  wad  Jess  say  ?  "  continued  Jock  Forrest,  sleepily. 

"  Ask  her,"  said  Ebie  sharply. 

"  At  ony  rate,  Fm  no  gaun  to  be  disturbit  in  my  nicht's 
rest  wi'  the  like  o'  you,  Ebie  Farrish  !  Ye'll  eyther  come 
hame  in  time  o'  nicht,  or  ye'll  sleep  elsewhere — up  at  the 
Crae,  gin  ye  like." 

"  Mind  yer  ain  business,"  retorted  Ebie,  who  could  think 
of  nothing  else  to  say. 

Down  below  daft  Jock  Gordon,  with  some  dim  appro- 
priateness was  beginning  his  elricht  croon  of — 

"  The  devil  sat  on  his  ain  lum-tap. 
Hech  hoiv — black  and  reeky — " 

when  Jock  Forrest,  out  of  all  patience,  cried  out  down  to 
him :  "Jock  Gordon,  gin  ye  begin  yer  noise  at  twa  o'clock 
i'  the  mornin'  Fll  come  down  an'  pit  ye  i'  the  mill-dam  ! " 

"  Maybes  ye'll  be  cryin'  for  me  to  pit  you  i'  the  mill-daui 
some  warm  day!"  said  Jock  Gordon  grimly,  "but  Fse  do 
naething  o'  the  kind.     I'll  eeu  bank  up  the  fires  an'  gie  ye 


132  'i'l^E   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

a  turn  till  ye're  weel  brundered.     Ye'll  girn  for  mill-dams 
then,  I'm  tiiinkin' !  " 

80,  grumbling  and  threatening  in  his  well-accustomed 
manner,  Jock  Grordon  returned  to  the  wakeful  silence 
which  he  kept  during  the  hours  usually  given  to  sleep.  It 
was  said,  however,  that  he  never  really  slept.  Indeed,  Ebie 
and  Jock  were  ready  to  take  their  oath  that  they  never 
went  up  and  down  that  wooden  ladder,  from  which  three  of 
the  rounds  were  missing,  without  seeing  Jock  Gordon's  eyes 
shining  like  a  cat's  out  of  the  dark  of  the  manger  where, 
like  an  ape,  he  sat  all  night  cross-legged. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    SCARLET   POPPY. 

It  was  early  afternoon  at  Ci-aig  Ronald.  Afternoon  is 
quite  a  different  time  from  morning  at  a  farm.  Afternoon 
is  slack-water  in  the  duties  of  the  house,  at  least  for  the 
womenfolk — except  in  hay  and  harvest,  when  it  is  full  flood 
tide  all  the  time,  night  and  day.  But  when  we  consider 
that  the  life  of  a  farm  town  begins  about  four  in  the  morn- 
ing, it  will  be  readily  seen  that  afternoon  comes  far  on  in 
the  day  indeed  for  such  as  have  tasted  the  freshness  of  the 
morning. 

In  the  morning,  Winsome  had  seen  that  every  part  of 
her  farm  machinery  was  going  upon  well-oiled  wheels. 
She  had  consulted  her  honorary  factor,  who,  though  a 
middle-aged  man  and  a  bachelor  of  long  and  honourable 
standing,  enrolled  himself  openly  and  avowedly  in  the  army 
of  Winsome's  admirers.  He  used  to  ask  every  day  what 
additions  had  been  made  to  the  list  of  her  conquests,  and 


A  SCARLET   POPPY.  133 

took  much  interest  in  the  details  of  lier  costume.  This  last 
she  mostly  devised  for  herself  with  taste  which  was  really  a 
gift  natural  to  her,  but  which  seemed  nothing  less  than 
miraculous  to  the  maidens  and  wives  of  a  parish  which  had 
its  dressmaking  done  according  to  the  canons  of  an  art 
which  the  Misses  Crumbcloth,  mantua-makers  at  the  Dul- 
larg  village,  had  learned  twenty-five  years  before,  once 
for  all. 

Now  it  was  afternoon,  and  Winsome  was  once  more  at 
the  bake-board.  There  were  few  things  that  Winsome 
liked  better  to  do,  and  she  daily  tried  the  beauty  of  her 
complexion  before  the  open  fireplace,  though  her  grand- 
mother ineffectually  suggested  that  Meg  Kissock  would  do 
just  as  well. 

While  Winsome  was  rubbing  her  hands  with  dry  meal, 
before  beginning,  she  became  conscious  that  some  one  was 
coming  up  the  drive.  So  she  was  not  at  all  astonished 
when  a  loud  knock  in  the  stillness  of  the  afternoon  echoed 
through  the  empty  house  and  far  down  the  stone  passages. 

It  was  Ealph  Peden  who  knocked,  as  indeed  she  did  not 
need  to  tell  herself.     She  called,  however,  to  Meg  Kissock. 

"  Meg,"  she  said,  "  there  is  the  young  minister  come  to 
see  my  grandmother.     Go  and  show  him  into  the  parlour." 

Meg  looked  at  her  mistress.  Her  reply  was  irrelevant. 
"  I  was  born  on  a  Friday,"  she  said. 

But  notwithstanding  she  went,  and  received  the  young 
man.  She  took  him  into  the  parlour,  where  he  was  set 
down  among  strange  voluted  foreign  shells  with  a  pink 
flush  within  the  wide  mouth  of  every  one  of  them.  Here 
there  was  a  scent  of  lavender  and  subtle  essences  in  the 
air,  and  a  great  stillness.  While  he  sat  waiting,  he  could 
hear  afar  off  the  sound  of  rippling  Avater.  It  struck  a  little 
chill  over  him  that,  after  the  letter  he  had  sent.  Winsome 
should  not  have  come  to  greet  him  herself.     From  this  he 


134  T^^K  LILAC   SUNI30NNET. 

argued  tlie  worst.  She  might  be  offended,  or — still  more 
fiittil  thought — she  and  Meg  might  be  laughing  over  it  to- 
gether. 

A  tall,  slim  girl  entered  the  quiet  parlour  with  a  silent, 
catlike  tread.  She  was  at  his  side  before  he  knew  it.  It 
was  the  girl  whom  he  had  met  on  his  way  to  the  Manse  the 
first  day  of  his  arrival.  Jess's  experience  as  a  maid  to  her 
ladyship  has  stood  her  in  good  stead.  She  had  a  fineness 
of  build  which  even  the  housework  of  a  farm  could  not 
coarsen.  Besides,  Winsome  considered  Jess  delicate,  and 
did  not  allow  her  to  lift  anything  really  heavy.  So  it  hap- 
pened that  when  Ralph  Peden  came,  Jess  was  putting  the 
fresh  flowers  in  the  great  bowls  of  low  relief  chinaware — 
roses  from  the  garden  and  sprays  of  white  hawthorn,  which 
flowers  late  in  Galloway,  blue  hyacinths  and  harebells 
massed  together — yellow  marigolds  and  glorious  scarlet 
poppies,  of  which  Jess  wnth  her  taste  of  the  savage  was 
passionately  fond.  She  had  arranged  some  of  these  against 
a  pale  blue  background  of  bunches  of  forget-me-nots,  with 
an  effect  strangely  striking  in  that  cool,  dusky  room. 

When  Jess  came  in  Ralph  had  risen  instinctively.  He 
shook  hands  heartily  with  her.  As  she  looked  up  at  him, 
she  said  : 

"  Do  you  remember  me  ?  " 

Ralph  replied  with  an  eager  frankness,  all  the  more 
marked  that  he  had  expected  Winsome  instead  of  Jess  Kis- 
sock  :  "  Indeed,  how  could  I  forget,  when  you  helped  me  to 
carry  my  books  that  night?  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here. 
I  had  no  idea  that  you  lived  here." 

Which  was  indeed  true,  for  he  had  not  yet  been  able  to 
grasp  the  idea  that  any  but  Winsome  lived  at  Craig  Ronald. 

Jess  Kissock,  who  knew  that  not  many  moments  were 
hers  before  Meg  might  come  in,  replied : 

"  I  am  here  to  help  with  the  house.     Meg  Kissock  is  my 


A   SCARLET   POPPY.  135 

sister."  She  looked  to  see  if  there  was  anything  in  Ilalph's 
eyes  she  could  resent ;  but  a  son  of  the  Marrow  kirk  had 
not  been  trained  to  respect  of  persons. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  help  very  much,"  he  said,  politely. 

"  I'm  not  as  strong  as  my  sister,  you  see,  so  that  I'm 
generally  in  the  house,"  said  Jess,  who  was  carrying  two 
dishes  of  flowers  at  once  across  the  room.  At  Ralph's  feet 
one  of  them  overset,  and  poured  all  its  wealth  of  blue  and 
white  and  splashed  crimson  over  the  floor. 

Jess  stooped  to  lift  them,  crying  shame  on  her  own  awk- 
wardness. Ralph  kindly  assisted  her.  As  they  stooped  to 
gather  them  together,  Jess  put  forward  all  her  attractions. 
Her  lithe  grace  never  showed  to  more  advantage.  Yet,  for 
all  the  impression  she  made  on  Ralph,  she  might  as  well  have 
wasted  her  sweetness  on  Jock  Gordon — indeed,  better  so, 
for  Jock  recognized  in  her  something  strangely  kin  to  his 
own  wayward  spirit. 

When  the  flowers  were  all  gathered  and  put  back : 

"  Now  you  shall  have  one  for  helping,"  said  Jess,  as  she 
had  once  seen  a  lady  in  England  do,  and  she  selected  a  dark- 
red,  velvety  damask  rose  from  the  wealth  which  she  had 
cut  and  brought  out  of  the  garden.  Standing  on  ti2)toe, 
she  could  scarcely  reach  his  button-hole. 

"  Bend  down,"  she  said.  Obediently  Ralph  bent,  good- 
humouredly  patient,  to  please  this  girl  who  had  done  him  a 
good  turn  on  that  day  which  now  seemed  so  far  away — the 
day  that  had  brought  Craig  Ronald  and  Winsome  into  his 
life. 

Rut  in  spite  of  his  stooping,  Jess  had  some  difliculty  in 
pinning  in  the  rose,  and  in  order  to  steady  herself  on  tiptoe, 
she  reached  up  and  laid  a  staying  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
As  he  bent  down,  his  face  just  touched  the  crisp  fringes  of 
her  dark  linir,  which  seemed  a  strange  thing  to  him. 

But  a  sense  of  another  presence  in  the  room  caused  him 


136  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

to  raise  his  eyes,  and  there  in  the  doorway  stood  Winsome 
Charteris,  looking  so  pale  and  cold  that  she  seemed  to  be  a 
thousand  miles  away. 

"  I  bid  you  good-afternoon,  Master  Peden,"  said  Win- 
some quietly ;  "  I  am  glad  you  have  had  time  to  come  and 
visit  my  grandmother.     She  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

For  some  moments  Ealph  had  no  words  to  answer.  As 
for  Jess,  she  did  not  even  colour ;  she  simply  withdrew  with 
the  quickness  and  feline  grace  which  were  characteristic  of 
her,  without  a  flush  or  a  tremor.  It  was  not  on  such  occa- 
sions that  her  heart  stirred.  When  she  was  gone  she  felt 
that  things  had  gone  well,  even  beyond  her  expectation. 

When  Ralph  at  last  found  his  voice,  he  said  somewhat 
fulteringly,  yet  with  a  ring  of  honesty  in  his  voice  which 
for  the  time  being  was  lost  upon  Winsome : 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me  for  coming  to-day.  You 
knew  I  would  come,  did  you  not?" 

Winsome  only  said :  "  My  grandmother  is  waiting  for 
me.     You  had  better  go  in  at  once." 

"  Winsome,"  said  Ealph,  trying  to  prolong  the  period 
of  his  converse  with  her,  "  you  are  not  angry  with  me  for 
writing  what  I  did?" 

Winsome  thought  that  he  was  referring  to  the  poem 
which  had  come  to  her  by  way  of  Manse  Bell  and  Saunders 
Mowdiewort.  She  was  indignant  that  he  should  try  to 
turn  the  tables  upon  her  and  so  make  her  feel  guilty. 

"  I  received  nothing  that  I  had  any  right  to  keep,"  she 
said. 

Ralph  was  silent.  The  blow  was  a  complete  one.  She 
did  not  wish  him  to  write  to  her  any  more  or  to  speak  to 
her  on  the  old  terms  of  friendship.  He  thought  wholly  of 
the  letter  that  he  had  sent  by  Saunders  the  day  before,  and 
her  coldness  and  changed  attitude  were  set  down  by  him  to 
that  cause,  and  not  to  the  embarrassing  position  in  which 


CONCERNING  JOHN   BAIRDIESON.  137 

Winsome  had  surprised  him  when  she  came  into  the  flower- 
strewn  parlour.  He  did  not  know  that  the  one  thing  a 
woman  never  really  forgives  is  a  false  position,  and  that 
even  the  best  of  women  in  such  cases  think  the  most  unjust 
things.  A\  insome  moved  towards  the  inner  door  of  her 
grandmother's  room. 

Ealpli  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to  touch  hers,  but  Win- 
some withdrew  herself  with  a  swift,  fierce  movement,  and 
held  the  door  open  for  him  to  pass  in.  He  had  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  obey. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CONCERNING    JOHN    BAIRDIESON. 

"  GuiD  e'en  to  ye,  Maister  Ealph,"  said  the  gay  old  lady 
within,  as  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  Ealph.  "  Keep  up 
yer  held,  man,  an'  walk  like  a  Gilchrist.  Ye  look  as  dowie 
as  a  yow  [ewe]  that  has  lost  her  lammie." 

Walter  Skirving  from  his  arm-chair  gave  this  time  no 
look  of  recognition.  He  yielded  his  hand  to  Ealph,  who 
raised  it  clay-chill  and  heavy  even  in  the  act  to  shake. 
When  he  let  it  drop,  the  old  man  held  up  his  palm  and 
looked  at  it. 

"  Hae  ye  gotten  aneuch  guid  Gallawa'  lear  to  learn  ye  no 
to  rin  awa  frae  a  bonny  lass  yet,  Maister  Ealph?"  said  the 
old  lady  briskly.  She  had  not  many  jokes  save  with  Win- 
some and  Meg,  and  she  rode  one  hard  when  she  came  by  it. 

But  no  reply  was  needed. 

"  Aye,  aye,  weelna,"  meditated  the  old  lady,  leaning 
back  and  folding  her  hands  like  a  median'al  saint  of  worldly 
tendencies,  "  tell  me  aboot  your  faither." 


138  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  He  is  very  robust  and  strong  in  health  of  body,"  said 
Ralph. 

"  Ye  leeve  in  Edinbra'?  "  said  the  old  lady,  with  a  rising 
inflection  of  inquiry. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ralph,  "  we  live  in  James's  Court.  My 
father  likes  to  be  among  his  people." 

"  Faith  na,  a  hantle  o'  braw  folk  hae  leeved  in  James's 
Court  in  their  time.  I  mind  o'  the  Leddy  Partan  an'  Mis- 
tress Girnigo,  the  king's  jevveller's  wife  haein'  a  fair  even- 
doon  feclit  a'  aboot  wha  was  to  hae  the  pick  o'  the  hooses  on 
the  stair. — Winifred,  ma  lassie,  come  here  an'  sit  doon  ! 
Dinna  gang  flichterin'  in  an'  oot,  but  bide  still  an'  listen  to 
what  Maister  Peden  has  to  tell  us  aboot  his  faither." 

AVinsome  came  somewhat  slowly  and  reluctantly  towards 
the  side  of  her  grandmother's  chair.  There  she  sat  hold- 
ing her  hand,  and  looking  across  the  room  towards  the  win- 
dow where,  motionless  and  abstracted,  Walter  Skirving, 
who  was  once  so  bold  and  strong,  dreamed  his  life  away. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  tell  you  first,"  said  Ralph,  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"  Hoot,  tell  me  gin  your  faither  and  you  bide  thegither 
withoot  ony  woman  body,  did  I  no  hear  that  yince ;  is  that 
the  case  na?"  demanded  the  lady  of  Craig  Ronald  with 
astonishing  directness. 

"It  is  true  enough,"  said  Ralph,  smiling,  "but  then  we 
have  with  us  my  father's  old  Minister's  Man,  John  Bairdie- 
son.  John  has  us  both  in  hands  and  keeps  us  under  fine. 
He  was  once  a  sailor,  and  cook  on  a  vessel  in  his  wild  days ; 
but  when  he  was  converted  by  falling  from  the  top  of  a 
main  yard  into  a  dock  (as  he  tells  himself),  he  took  the 
faith  in  a  somewhat  extreme  form.  But  that  does  not  affect 
his  cooking.     He  is  as  good  as  a  woman  in  a  house." 

"  An'  that's  a  lee,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  The  best  man's 
no  as  ffuid  as  the  warst  woman  in  a  hoose  !  " 


CONCERNING   JOHN   BAIKDIESON.  I39 

Wiusome  did  not  appear  to  be  listening.  Of  what  in- 
terest could  such  things  be  to  her  ? 

Her  grandmother  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with  Ralph's 
report.  "  But  that's  nae  Christian  way  for  folk  to  leeve, 
withoot  a  woman  o'  ouy  kind  i'  the  hoose — it's  hardly 
human ! " 

"  But  I  can  assure  you,  Mistress  Skirving,  that,  in  sjjite 
of  what  you  say,  John  Bairdieson  does  very  well  for  us.  lie 
is,  however,  terribly  jealous  of  women  coming  about.  He 
does  not  allow  one  of  them  within  the  doors.  He  regards 
them  fixedly  through  the  keyhole  before  opening,  and  when 
he  does  open,  his  usual  greeting  to  them  is,  '  Noo  get  yer 
message  dune  an'  be  gaun  ! '  " 

The  lady  of  Craig  Ronald  laughed  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Gin  I  cam'  to  veesit  ye  I  wad  learn  him  mainners ! 
But  what  does  he  do,"  she  continued,  "  when  some  of  the 
dames  of  good  standing  in  the  congregation  call  on  your 
f aither  ?     Does  he  treat  them  in  this  cavalier  way  ?  " 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Ralph,  "  John  listens  at  my  father's 
door  to  hear  if  he  is  stirring.  If  there  be  no  sign,  John 
says,  '  The  minister's  no  in,  mem,  an'  I  could  not  sav  for 
certain  when  he  wull  be  ! '  Ouce  my  father  came  out  and 
caught  him  in  the  act,  and  when  ho  charged  John  with 
telling  a  deliberate  lie  to  a  lady,  John  replied,  '  A'weel,  it'll 
tak'  a  lang  while  afore  we  mak'  u])  for  the  aipple  ! '  " 

It  is  believed  that  John  I'luixlieson  here  refers  to  Eve's 
fatal  gift  to  Adam. 

"John  Bairdieson  is  an  ungallant  man.  It'll  be  from 
him  that  ye  learned  to  rin  awa',"  retorted  the  old  lady. 

"  Grandmother,"  interrupted  Winsome,  who  had  suffered 
quite  enough  from  this,  "  Master  Peden  has  come  to  see  you, 
and  to  ask  how  you  find  yourself  to-day." 

"  Aye,  aye,  belike,  belike — but  Maistcr  Ralph  Peden  has 
the  power  o'  his  tongue,  an'  gin  that  be  his  errand  he  can 


140  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

say  as  muckle  for  himsel'.  Young  fowk  are  whiles  rale 
offeecious !  "  she  said,  turning  to  Ralph  Avith  the  air  of  au 
appeal  to  an  equal  from  the  unaccouutabilities  of  a  child. 

Winsome  lifted  some  stray  flowers  that  Jess  Kissock  had 
drojiped  when  she  sped  out  of  the  room,  and  threw  them 
out  of  the  window  with  an  air  of  disdain.  This  to  some  ex- 
tent relieved  her,  and  she  felt  better.  It  surprised  Ealph, 
however,  who,  being  wholly  innocent  and  unembarrassed  by 
the  recent  occurrence,  wondered  vaguely  why  she  did  it. 

"  Xoo  tell  me  mair  aboot  your  faither,"  continued  Mis- 
tress Skirving.  "  I  cauna  mak'  oot  whaur  the  Marrow  pairt 
o'  ye  comes  iu — I  suppose  when  ye  tak'  to  rinnin'  awa'." 

"  Grandmammy,  your  pillows  are  not  comfortable  ;  let 
me  sort  them  for  you." 

Winsome  rose  and  touched  the  old  lady's  surroundings 
in  a  manner  that  to  Ralph  was  suggestive  of  angels  turning 
over  the  white-bosomed  clouds.  Then  Ralph  looked  at  his 
pleasant  querist  to  find  out  if  he  were  expected  to  go  on. 
The  old  lady  nodded  to  him  with  an  affectionate  look. 

"  Well,"  said  Ralph,  "  my  father  is  like  nobody  else.  I 
have  missed  my  mother,  of  course,  but  my  father  has  been 
like  a  mother  for  tenderness  to  me." 

"  Yer  grandfaither,  auld  Ralph  Gilchrist,  was  sore  missed. 
There  was  thanksgiving  in  the  parish  for  three  days  after  he 
died  !  "  said  the  old  lady  by  way  of  an  anticlimax. 

Winsome  looked  very  much  as  if  she  wished  to  say 
something,  which  brought  down  her  grandmother's  wrath 
upon  her. 

"  Noo,  lassie,  is't  you  or  me  that's  haeiu'  a  veesit  frae 
this  young  man  ?  Ye  telled  me  juist  the  noo  that  he  had 
come  to  see  me.  Then  Juist  let  us  caa'  oor  cracks,  an'  say 
oor  says  in  peace." 

Thus  admonished.  Winsome  was  silent.  But  for  the 
first  time  she  looked  at  Ralph  with  a  smile  that  had  half  an 


CONCERNING  JOHN   BAIRDIESON.  141 

understanding  in  it,  which  made  that  young  man's  heart 
leap.  He  answered  quite  at  random  for  the  next  few  mo- 
ments. 

"  About  my  father — yes,  he  always  takes  wp  the  Bibles 
when  John  Bairdieson  preaches." 

"  What !  "  said  the  old  lady. 

"  I  mean,  John  Bairdieson  takes  up  the  Bibles  for  him 
when  he  preaches,  and  as  he  shuts  the  door,  John  says  over 
the  railing  in  a  whisper, '  Noo,  dinna  be  losin'  the  Psalms,  as 
ye  did  this  day  three  weeks ' ;  or  perhaps,  '  Be  canny  on  this 
side  o'  the  poopit ;  the  hinge  is  juist  pitten  on  wi'  potty 
[putty]  ; '  whiles  John  will  walk  half-way  down  the  kirk, 
and  then  turn  to  see  if  my  father  has  sat  quietly  down  ac- 
cording to  instructions.  This  John  has  always  done  since 
the  day  when  some  inward  communing  overcame  my  father 
before  he  began  his  sermon,  and  he  stood  up  in  the  pulpit 
without  saying  a  word  till  the  people  thought  that  he  was  in 
direct  communion  with  the  Almighty." 

"  There  was  nane  o'  thae  fine  abstractions  aboot  your 
grandfaither,  Ralph  Gilchrist — na,  whiles  he  was  taen  sae 
that  he  couldna  speak  he  was  that  mad,  an'  aye  he  gat 
redder  an'  redder  i'  the  face,  till  yince  he  gat  vent,  and  then 
the  ill  words  ran  frae  him  like  the  Skyreburn  *  in  spate." 

"What  else  did  John  Bairdieson  say  to  yer  faither?" 
asked  Winsome,  for  the  first  time  that  day  speaking  human- 
ly to  Ralph. 

That  young  man  looked  gratefully  at  her,  as  if  she  had 
suddenly  dowered  him  with  a  fortune.  Then  he  paused  to 
try  (because  he  was  very  young  and  foolish)  to  account  for 
the  unaccountability  of  womankind. 

He  endeavoured  to  recollect  what  it  was  that  he  had 
said  and  what  John  Bairdieson  had  said,  but  with  indiffer- 

*  A  Galloway  mountain  stream  noted  for  sudden  floods. 
10 


142  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

ent  success.  He  could  not  remember  what  he  was  talking 
about. 

"John  Bairdieson  said — John  Bairdieson  said It 

has  clean  gone  out  of  ray  mind  what  John  Bairdieson  said," 
replied  Ealph  with  much  shamefacedness. 

The  old  lady  looked  at  him  approvingly.  "  Ye're  no 
a  Whig.     There's  guid  bluid  in  ye,"  she  said,  irrelevantly. 

"  Yes,  I  do  remember  now,"  broke  in  Ealph  eagerly.  "  I 
remember  what  John  Bairdieson  said.  '  Sit  doon,  minister,' 
he  said,  '  gin  yer  ready  to  flee  up  to  the  blue  banks '  "  [rafters 
— said  of  hens  going  to  rest  at  nights]  ;  " '  there's  a  heap  o' 
folk  in  this  congregation  that's  no  juist  sae  ready  yet.' " 

Ealph  saw  that  Winsome  and  her  grandmother  were  both 
genuinely  interested  in  his  father. 

"  Ye  maun  mind  that  I  yince  kenned  yer  faitlier  as 
weel  as  e'er  I  kenned  a  son  o'  mine,  though  it's  mony  an' 
mony  a  year  sin'  he  was  i'  this  hoose."  Winsome  looked 
curiously  at  her  grandmother.  "Aye,  lassie,"  she  said,  "ye 
may  look  an'  look,  but  the  faither  o'  him  there  cam  as  near 
to  bein'  your  ain  faither " 

Walter  Skirviug,  swathed  in  his  chair,  turned  his  solemn 
and  awful  face  from  the  window,  as  though  called  back  to 
life  by  his  wife's  words.  "  Silence,  woman ! "  he  thun- 
dered. 

But  Mistress  Skirving  did  not  look  in  the  least  put  out; 
only  she  was  discreetly  silent  for  a  minute  or  two  after  her 
husband  had  spoken,  as  was  her  wont,  and  then  she  pro- 
ceeded : 

"Aye,  brawlyl  kenned  Gilbert  Peden,  when  he  used 
to  come  in  at  that  door,  wi'  his  black  curls  ower  his  broo  as 
crisp  an'  bonny  as  his  son's  the  day." 

Winsome  looked  at  the  door  with  an  air  of  interest. 
"  Did  he  come  to  see  you,  grandmammy  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Aye,  aye,  what  else  ? — juist  as  muckle  as  this  young  man 


CONCERNING  JOHN  BAIRDIESON.  143 

here  comes  to  see  me.  I  had  the  word  o'  baith  o'  them 
for't.  Ealph  Peden  says  that  he  comes  to  see  me,  an'  sae 
did  the  faither  o'  him " 

Again  Mistress  Skirving  paused,  for  she  was  aware  that 
her  husband  had  turned  on  her  one  of  his  silent  looks. 

"  Drive  on  aboot  yer  faither  an'  John  Rorrison,"  she 
said ;  "  it's  verra  entertainin'," 

"  Bairdieson,"  said  Winsome,  correctingly. 

Ralph,  now  reassured  that  he  was  interesting  Winsome 
as  well,  went  on  more  briskly.  Winsome  had  slipped  down 
beside  her  grandmother,  and  had  laid  her  arm  across  her 
grandmother's  knees  till  the  full  curve  of  her  breast  touched 
the  spare  outlines  of  the  elder  woman.  Ralph  wondered  if 
Winsome  would  ever  in  the  years  to  come  be  like  her  grand- 
mother. He  thought  that  he  could  love  her  a  thousand 
times  more  then. 

"  My  father,"  said  Ral^ih,  "  is  a  man  much  beloved  by 
his  congregation,  for  he  is  a  very  father  to  them  in  all  their 
troubles ;  but  they  give  him  a  kind  of  adoration  in  return 
that  would  not  be  good  for  any  other  kind  of  man  except 
my  father.  They  think  him  no  less  than  infallible.  '  Dinna 
mak'  a  god  o'  yer  minister,'  he  tells  them,  but  they  do  it  all 
the  same." 

Winsome  looked  as  if  she  did  not  wonder. 

"  When  I  kenned  yer  faither,"  said  the  old  dame,  "  he 
wad  hae  been  nocht  the  waur  o'  a  pickle  mair  o'  the  auld 
Adam  in  him.  It's  a  rale  usefu'  commodity  in  this 
life " 

"  Why,  grandmother "  began  Winsome. 

"  Noo,  lassie,  wull  ye  baud  yer  tongue  ?  I'm  sair  deevcd 
wi'  the  din  o'  ye  !  Is  there  ony  yae  thing  that  a  body  may 
say  withoot  bcin'  interruptit?  Gin  it's  no  you  wi'  yer 
'  Grandmither  ! '  like  a  cheepin'  mavis,  it's  him  ower  by 
lookin'  as  if  ye  had  dung  doon  the  Bible  an'  selled  yersel' 


144  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

to  Sawtan.  I  never  was  in  sic  a  hoose.  A  body  canna  get 
their  tongue  rinnin'  easy  an'  comfortable  like,  but  it's 
'  Woman,  silence  ! '  in  a  voice  as  graund  an'  awfu'  as  '  The 
Lord  said  unto  Moses ' — or  else  you  wi'  yer  Englishy  peepin' 
tongue, '  Gran'mither  ! '  as  terrible  shockit  like  as  if  a  body 
were  gaun  intil  the  kirk  on  Sabbath  wi'  their  stockin's  doon 
aboot  their  ankles  ! " 

The  little  outburst  seemed  mightily  to  relieve  the  old 
lady.  Neither  of  the  guilty  persons  made  any  signs,  save 
that  Winsome  extended  her  elbow  across  her  grandmother's 
knee,  and  poised  a  dimpled  chin  on  her  hand,  smiling  as 
placidly  and  contentedly  as  if  her  relative's  words  had  been 
an  outburst  of  admiration.  The  old  woman  looked  sternly 
at  her  for  a  moment.  Then  she  relented,  and  her  hand 
stole  among  the  girl's  clustering  curls.  Tlie  little  burst 
of  temper  gave  way  to  a  semi-humorous  look  of  feigned 
sternness. 

"  Ye're  a  thankless  madam,"  she  said,  shaking  her  white- 
capped  head ;  "  maybe  ye  think  that  the  fifth  command- 
ment says  nocht  aboot  grandmithers ;  but  ye'll  be  tamed 
some  day,  my  woman.  Mony's  the  gamesome  an'  hellicat 
[madcap]  lassie  that  I  hae  seen  brocht  to  hersel',  an'  her 
wings  clippit  like  a  sea-gull's  i'  the  3'aird,  tethered  by  the 
fit  wi'  a  family  o'  ten  or  a  dizzen " 

Winsome  rose  and  marched  out  of  the  room  with  all  the 
dignity  of  offended  youth  at  the  suggestion.  The  old  lady 
laughed  a  hearty  laugh,  in  which,  however,  Ealph  did  not 
join. 

"Sae  fine- an'  Englishy  the  ways  o'  folk  noo,"  she  went 
on  ;  "  ye  mauna  say  this,  ye  mauna  mention  that ;  dear  sirse 
me,  I  canna  mind  them  a'.  I'm  ower  auld  a  Pussy  Baw- 
drous  to  learn  new  tricks  o'  sayiu'  '■miauw''  to  the  kittlins. 
But  for  a'  that  an'  a'  that,  I  haena  noticed  that  the  young 
folk  are  mair  particular  aboot  what  they  do  nor  they  waur 


CONCERNING  JOHN  BAIRDIESOX.  145 

fifty  years  since.     Na,  but  they're  that  nice  they  niauna  say 
this  and  they  canna  hear  that." 

The  old  lady  had  got  so  far  when  by  the  sound  of  re- 
treating footsteps  she  judged  that  Winsome  was  out  of 
hearing.     Instantly  she  changed  her  tone. 

"  But,  young  man,"  she  said,  shaking  her  finger  at  him 
as  if  she  exj^ected  a  contradiction,  "  mind  you,  there's  no  a 
lass  i'  twuuty  parishes  like  this  lassie  o'  mine.  An'  diuna 
think  that  me  an'  my  guidman  dinna  ken  brawly  what's 
bringiu'  ye  to  Craig  Ronald.  Noo,  it's  richt  an'  better  nor 
richt — for  ye're  yer  faither's  son,  an'  we  baith  wuss  ye  weel. 
But  mind  you  that  there's  sorrow  comin'  to  us  a'.  Him 
an'  me  here  has  had  oor  sorrows  i'  the  past,  deep  buried  for 
mair  nor  twenty  year." 

"  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Ralph,  earnestly. 
"  I  need  not  tell  you,  after  what  I  have  said,  that  I  would 
lay  my  life  down  as  a  very  little  thing  to  pleasure  Winsome 
Charteris.  I  love  her  as  I  never  thought  that  woman  could 
be  loved,  and  I  am  not  the  kind  to  change." 

"  The  faither  o'  ye  didna  change,  though  his  faitber 
garred  him  mairry  a  Gilchrist — an'  a  guid  bit  lass  she  was. 
But  for  a'  that  he  didna  change.  Na,  weel  do  I  ken  that 
he  didna  change." 

"  But,"  continued  Ralph,  "  I  have  no  reason  in  the 
world  to  imagine  that  Winsome  thinks  a  thought  about 
me.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  some  reason  to  fear  that  she 
dislikes  my  person ;  and  I  would  not  be  troublesome  to 
her " 

"  Hoot  toot !  laddie,  dinna  let  the  Whig  bluid  mak'  a 
pulin'  bairn  o'  ye.  Surely  ye  dinna  expect  a  lass  o'  specrit 
to  jump  at  the  thocht  0'  ye,  or  drap  intil  yer  moo'  like  a 
black-ripe  cherry  aff  a  tree  i'  the  orchard.  Gae  wa'  wi'  ye, 
man !  what  does  a  blithe  young  man  0'  mettle  want  wi'  en- 
couragement— encouragement,  fie  ! " 


146  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET, 

"Perhaps  you    can  tell   me "  faltered  Ealph.     "I 

thought " 

"Na,  ua,  I  can  tell  ye  naething;  ye  maun  juist  find  oot 
for  yersel',  as  a  young  man  should.  Only  this  I  wull  say,  it's 
only  a  cauldrife  Whigamore  that  wad  tak'  '  No  '  for  an  an- 
swer. Mind  ye  that  gin  the  forbears  o'  the  daddy  o'  ye 
was  on  the  wrang  side  o'  Both  well  Brig  that  day — an'  guid 
Wcstland  bluid  they  spilt,  nae  doot,  Whigs  though  they 
waur — there's  that  in  ye  that  rode  doon  the  West  Port  wi' 
Clavers,  an'  cried  : 

•  Up  wi'  the  bonnets  o'  bonny  Dundee  ! '  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Ralph  with  some  of  the  stiff  sententious- 
ness  which  he  had  not  yet  got  rid  of,  "  that  I  am  not  worthy 
of  your  granddaughter  in  any  respect " 

"  My  certes,  no,"  said  the  sharp-witted  dame,  "  for  jeh-e 
a  man,  an'  it's  a  guid  blessin'  that  you  men  dinna  get  your 
deserts,  or  it  wad  be  a  puir  lookoot  for  the  next  geuera- 
tion,  young  man.  Gae  wa'  wi'  ye,  man ;  mind  ye,  I'll  no' 
say  a  word  in  yer  favour,  but  raither  the  ither  way — 
whilk,"  smiled  Mistress  Skirving  in  the  deep  still  way  that 
she  sometimes  had  in  the  midst  of  her  liveliness,  "  whilk 
will  maybe  do  ye  mair  guid.  But  Fm  speakin'  for  my  guid- 
man  when  I  say  that  ye  hae  oor  best  guid-wull.  We  think 
that  ye  are  a  true  man,  as  yer  faither  was,  though  sorely  he 
was  used  by  this  hoose.  It  wad  maybes  be  some  amends," 
she  added,  as  if  to  herself. 

Then  the  dear  old  lady  touched  her  eyes  with  a  fine 
handkerchief  which  she  took  out  of  a  little  black  reticule 
basket  on  the  table  by  her  side. 

As  Ealph  rose  reverently  and  kissed  her  hand  before 
retiring,  Walter  Skirving  motioned  him  near  his  chair. 
Then  he  drew  him  downward  till  Ralph  was  bending  on 
one  knee.     He  laid  a  nerveless  heavy  hand  on  the  young 


LEGITIMATE  SPORT.  I47 

man's  head,  and  looked  for  a  minute — which  seemed  years 
to  Ealph — very  fixedly  on  his  eyes.  Then  dropping  his 
hand  and  turning  to  the  window,  he  drew  a  long,  heavy 
breath. 

Ralph  Peden  rose  and  went  out. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

LEGITIMATE    SPOET. 

As  Ralph  Peden  went  through  the  flower-decked  parlour 
in  which  he  had  met  Jess  Kissock  an  hour  before,  he  heard 
the  clang  of  controversy,  or  perhaps  it  is  more  correct  to 
say,  he  heard  the  voice  of  Meg  Kissock  raised  to  its  extreme 
pitch  of  command. 

"  Certes,  my  lass,  but  ye'll  no  hoodwink  me ;  je  hae 
dune  no  yae  thing  this  hale  mornin'  but  wander  athort 
[about]  the  hoose  wi'  that  basket  0'  flooers.  Come  you  an' 
gie  us  a  hand  wi'  the  kirn  this  meenit !  Ye  dinna  gang  a 
step  oot  o'  the  hoose  the  day  ! " 

Ralph  did  not  think  of  it  particularly  at  the  time,  but  it 
was  probably  owing  to  this  utilitarian  occupation  that  he 
did  not  again  see  the  attractive  Jess  on  his  way  out.  For, 
with  all  her  cleverness,  Jess  was  afraid  of  Meg. 

Ralph  passed  through  the  yard  to  the  gate  which  led  to 
the  hill.  He  was  wonderfully  comforted  in  heart,  and 
though  Winsome  had  been  alternatively  cold  and  kind,  he 
was  too  new  in  the  ways  of  girls  to  be  uplifted  on  that  ac- 
count, as  a  more  experienced  man  might  have  been.  Still, 
the  interview  with  the  old  people  had  done  him  good. 

As  he  was  crossing  the  brook  which  flows  partly  over 
and  partly  under  the  road  at  the  horse  watering-place,  ho 


148  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

looked  down  into  the  dell  among  the  tangles  of  birch  and 
the  thick  viscous  foliage  of  the  green-berried  elder.  There 
he  caught  the  flash  of  a  light  dress,  and  as  he  climbed  the 
opposite  grassy  bank  on  his  way  to  the  village,  he  saw  im- 
mediately beneath  him  the  maiden  of  his  dreams  and  his 
love-verses.  Now  she  leajDed  merrily  from  stone  to  stone ; 
now  she  bent  stealthily  over  till  her  palms  came  together  in 
the  water ;  now  she  paused  to  dash  her  hair  back  from  her 
flushed  face.  And  all  the  time  the  water  glimmered  and 
sparkled  about  her  feet.  With  her  was  Andra  Kissock,  a 
bare-legged,  bonnetless  squire  of  dames.  Sometimes  he 
pursued  the  wily  burn  trout  with  relentless  ferocity  and 
the  silent  intentness  of  a  sleuthhound.  Often,  however,  he 
would  pause  and  with  his  finger  indicate  some  favourite 
stone  to  Winsome.  Then  the  young  lady,  utterly  forgetful 
of  all  else  and  Avith  tremulous  eagerness,  delicately  circum- 
vented the  red-spotted  beauties. 

Once  throwing  her  head  back  to  clear  the  tumbling 
avalanches  of  her  hair,  she  chanced  to  see  Ealph  standing 
silent  above.  For  a  moment  Winsome  was  annoyed.  She 
had  gone  to  the  hill  brook  with  Andra  so  that  she  might 
not  need  to  speak  further  with  Ealph  Peden,  and  here  he 
had  followed  her.  But  it  did  not  need  a  second  look  to 
show  her  that  he  was  infinitely  more  embarrassed  than  she. 
This  is  the  thing  of  all  others  which  is  fitted  to  make  a 
woman  calm  and  collected.  It  allows  her  to  take  the  meas- 
ure of  her  opi"»ortunity  and  assures  her  of  her  superiority. 
So,  with  a  gay  and  quipsome  wave  of  the  hand,  in  which 
Ralph  was  conscious  of  some  faint  resemblance  to  her 
grandmother,  she  called  to  him  : 

"  Come  down  and  help  us  to  catch  some  trout  for 
supper." 

Ealph  descended,  digging  liis  heels  determinedly  into 
the  steep  bank,  till  he  found  himself  in  the  bed  of  the 


LEGITIMATE  SPORT.  149 

streamlet.  Then  he  looked  at  Winsome  for  an  explanation. 
This  was  something  he  had  not  practised  in  the  water  of 
Leith.  Andra  Kissock  glared  at  him  with  a  terrible  coun- 
tenance, in  which  contempt  was  supposed  to  blend  with  a 
sullen  ferocity  characteristic  of  the  noble  savage.  The 
effect  was  slightly  marred  by  a  black  streak  of  mud  which 
was  drawn  from  the  angle  of  his  mouth  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair.  Ealph  thought  from  his  expression  that  trout-fishiug 
of  this  kind  did  not  agree  with  him,  and  proposed  to  help 
Winsome  instead  of  Andra. 

This  proposal  had  the  effect  of  drawing  a  melodramatic 
"  Ha !  ha ! "  from  that  youth,  ludicrously  out  of  keeping 
with  his  usual  demeanour.  Once  he  had  seen  a  play-acting 
show  unbeknown  to  his  mother,  when  Jess  had  taken  him 
to  Cairn  Edward  September  fair. 

So  "  Ha !  ha ! "  he  said  with  the  look  of  smothered 
desperation  which  to  the  unprejudiced  observer  suggested  a 
pain  in  his  inside.  "  You  guddle  troot !  "  he  cried  scorn- 
fully, "  I  wad  admire  to  see  ye  !  Ye  wad  only  fyle  [dirty] 
yer  shune  an'  yer  braw  breeks ! " 

Ealph  glanced  at  the  striped  underskirt  over  which 
Winsome  had  looped  her  dress.  It  struck  him  with  aston- 
ishment to  note  how  she  had  managed  to  keep  it  clean  and 
dry,  when  Andra  was  apparently  wet  to  the  neck. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  be  of  any  use,"  he  said 
meekly,  "  but  I  shall  try." 

Winsome  was  standing  poised  on  a  stone,  bending  like  a 
lithe  maid,  her  hands  in  the  clear  water.  There  had  been 
a  swift  and  noiseless  rush  underneath  the  stone ;  a  few 
grains  of  sand  rose  up  where  the  white  under  part  of  the 
trout  had  touched  it  as  it  glided  beneath.  Slowly  and  im- 
perceptibly Winsome's  hand  worked  its  way  beneath  the 
stone.  With  the  fingers  of  one  hand  she  made  that  slight 
swirl  of  the  water  which  is  supposed  by  expert  "  guddlcrs  " 


150  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

to  fascinate  the  trout,  and  to  render  tliem  incapable  of  re- 
sisting the  beckoning  fingers.  Andra  watched  breathlessly 
from  the  bank  above.  Ealph  came  nearer  to  see  the  issue. 
The  long,  slender  fingers,  shining  mellow  in  the  peaty  water, 
were  just  closing,  when  the  stone  on  which  Ealph  was 
standing  precariously  toppled  a  little  and  fell  over  into  the 
burn  with  a  splash.  The  trout  darted  out  and  in  a  moment 
was  down  stream  into  the  biggest  pool  for  miles. 

Winsome  rose  with  a  flush  of  disappointment,  and 
looked  very  reproachfully  towards  the  culprit.  Ralph,  who 
had  followed  the  stone,  stood  up  to  his  knees  in  the  water, 
looking  the  picture  of  crestfallen  humility. 

Overhead  on  the  bank  Andra  danced  madly  like  an  imp. 
He  would  not  have  dared  to  speak  to  Ealph  on  any  other 
occasion,  but  guddling,  like  curling,  loosens  the  tongue.  He 
who  fails  or  causes  the  failures  of  others  is  certain  to  hear 
very  plainly  of  it  from  those  who  accompany  him  to  this 
very  dramatic  kind  of  fishing. 

"0'  a'  the  stupid  asses  !  "  cried  that  young  man.  "  Was 
there  ever  sic  a  beauty  ? — a  pund  wecht  gin  it  was  an  ounce ! 
— an'  to  fa'  aS  a  stane  like  a  six-months'  wean !  " 

His  effective  condemnation  made  Winsome  laugh. 
Ealph  laughed  along  with  her,  which  very  much  increased 
the  anger  of  Andra,  who  turned  away  in  silent  indignation. 
It  was  hard  to  think,  just  when  he  had  got  the  "  prairie 
flower"  of  Craig  Eonald  (for  whom  he  cherished  a  romantic 
attachment  of  the  most  desperate  and  picturesque  kind) 
away  from  the  house  for  a  whole  long  afternoon  at  the  fish- 
ing, that  this  great  grown-up  lout  should  come  this  way  and 
spoil  all  his  sport.  Andra  was  moved  to  the  extremity  of 
scorn. 

"  Hey,  mon  ! "  he  called  to  Ealph,  who  was  standing  in 
the  water's  edge  with  Winsome  on  a  miniature  bay  of  shining 
sand,  looking  down  on  the  limpid  lapse  of  the  clear  moss- 


LEGITIMATE  SPORT.  151 

tinted  water  slipi^ing  over  its  sand  and  pebbles — "liey, 
mon  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Well,  Andra,  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  Winsome  Charteris, 
looking  up  after  a  moment.     She  had  been  busy  thinking. 

"  Tell  that  chap  frae  Enbro',"  said  Andra,  collecting  all 
his  spleen  into  one,  tremendous  and  annihilating  phrase — 
"  him  that  tummilt  aff  the  stane — that  there's  a  feck  o' 
paddocks  [a  good  many  frogs]  up  there  1'  the  bog.  He 
micht  come  up  here  an'  guddle  for  paddocks.  It  wad  be 
safer  for  the  like  o'  him  1 "  The  ironical  method  is  the 
favourite  mode  or  vehicle  of  humour  among  the  common 
orders  in  Galloway.     Andra  was  a  master  in  it. 

"  Andra,"  said  Winsome  warmly,  "  you  must  not " 

"  Please  let  him  say  whatever  he  likes.  My  awkward- 
ness deserves  it  all,"  said  Ralph,  with  becoming  meekness. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go  home  now,"  said  Winsome ; 
"  it  will  soon  be  time  for  you  to  bring  the  kye  home." 

"  Hae  ye  aneucli  troots  for  the  mistress's  denner  ?  "  said 
Andra,  who  knew  very  well  how  many  there  were. 

"  There  are  the  four  that  you  got,  and  the  one  I  got 
beneath  the  bank,  Andra,"  answered  Winsome. 

"  Nane  o'  them  half  the  size  o'  the  yin  that  he  fleyed 
[frightened]  frae  ablow  the  big  stane,"  said  Andra  Kis- 
sock,  indicating  the  culprit  once  more  with  the  stubby  great 
toe  of  his  left  foot.  It  would  have  done  Ralph  too  much 
honour  to  have  pointed  with  his  hand.  Besides,  it  was  a 
way  that  Andrew  had  at  all  times.  He  indicated  persons 
and  things  with  that  part  of  him  which  was  most  con- 
venient at  the  time.  He  would  point  with  his  elbow  stuck 
sideways  at  an  acute  angle  in  a  manner  that  was  distinctly 
libellous.  He  would  do  it  menacingly  with  his  head,  and 
the  indication  contemptuous  of  his  left  knee  was  a  triumi^h. 
But  the  finest  and  most  conclusive  use  of  all  was  his  great 
toe  as  an  index-finger  of  scorn.     It  stuck  out  apart  from  all 


152  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

the  others,  red  and  uncompromising,  a  conclusive  affidavit 
of  evil  conduct. 

"  It's  near  kye-time,"  again  said  Winsome,  while  Kalph 
yearned  with  a  great  yearning  for  the  boy  to  betake  himself 
over  the  moor.     But  Andra  had  no  such  intention. 

"  I'se  no  gaun  a  fit  till  I  hae  showed  ye  baith  what  it  is 
to  guddle.  For  ye  mauna  gang  awa'  to  Embro "  [elbow 
contemptuous  to  the  north,  where  Andra  supposed  Edin- 
burgh to  lie  immediately  on  the  other  side  of  the  double- 
breasted  swell  of  blue  Cairnsmuir  of  Carsphairn],  "  an'  think 
that  howkin'  (wi'  a  lassie  to  help  ye)  in  among  the  gravel  is 
guddlin'.  You  see  here ! "  cried  Andra,  and  before  either 
Winsome  or  Kalph  could  say  a  word,  he  had  stripped  him- 
self to  his  very  brief  breeches  and  ragged  shirt,  and  was  wad- 
ing into  the  deepest  part  of  the  pool  beneath  the  water-fall. 

Here  he  scurried  and  scuttled  for  all  the  world  like  a 
dipper,  with  his  breast  showing  white  like  that  of  the  bird, 
as  he  walked  along  the  bottom  of  the  pool.  Most  of  the 
time  his  head  was  beneath  the  water,  as  well  as  all  the  rest 
of  his  body.  His  arms  bored  their  way  round  the  intricacies 
of  the  boulders  at  the  bottom.  His  brown  and  freckled 
hands  pursued  the  trouts  beneath  the  banks.  Sometimes 
he  would  have  one  in  each  hand  at  the  same  time. 

When  he  caught  them  he  had  a  careless  and  reckless 
way  of  throwing  them  np  on  the  bank  without  looking 
where  he  was  throwing.  The  first  one  he  threw  in  this  way 
took  eifect  on  the  cheek  of  Ralph  Peden,  to  his  exceeding 
astonishment. 

Winsome  again  cried  "Andra!"  warningly,  but  Andra 
was  far  too  busy  to  listen ;  besides,  it  is  not  easy  to  hear  with 
one's  head  nnder  water  and  the  frightened  trout  flashing  in 
lightning  wimples  athwart  the  pool. 

But  for  all  that,  the  fisherman's  senses  were  acute,  even 
under  the  water ;  for  as  Winsome  and  Ealph  were  not  very 


LEGITIMATE  SPORT.  153 

energetic  in  catching  the  lively  speckled  beauties  which 
found  themselves  so  unexpectedly  frisking  upon  the  green 
grass,  one  or  two  of  them  (putting  apparently  their  tails 
into  their  mouths,  and  letting  go,  as  with  the  release  of  a 
steel  spring)  turned  a  splashing  somersault  into  the  pool. 
Andra  did  not  seem  to  notice  them  as  they  fell,  but  in  a 
little  while  he  looked  up  with  a  trout  in  his  hand,  the  peat- 
water  running  in  bucketfuls  from  his  hair  and  shirt,  his 
face  full  of  indignation. 

"  Ye're  lettin'  them  back  again  ! "  he  exclaimed,  looking 
fiercely  at"  the  trout  in  his  hand.  "  This  is  the  second  time 
I  hae  catched  this  yiu  wi'  the  wart  on  its  tail ! "  he  said. 
"  D'ye  think  I'm  catchin'  them  for  fun,  or  to  gie  them  a 
change  o'  air  for  their  healths,  like  fine  fowk  that  come  frae 
Embro' ! " 

"  Andra,  I  will  not  allow "  Winsome  began,  who  felt 

that  on  the  ground  of  Craig  Konald  a  guest  of  her  grand- 
mother's should  be  respected. 

But  before  she  had  got  further  Andra  was  again  under 
the  water,  and  again  the  trout  began  to  rain  out,  taking 
occasional  local  effect  upon  both  of  them. 

Finally  Andra  looked  up  with  an  air  of  triumph.  "It 
tak's  ye  a'  yer  time  to  grup  them  on  the  dry  land,  I'm 
thinkin',"  said  he  with  some  fine  scorn ;  "  ye  had  better 
try  the  paddocks.  It's  safer."  So,  shaking  himself  like  a 
water-dog,  he  climbed  up  on  the  grass,  where  he  collected 
the  fish  into  a  large  fishing  basket  which  Winsome  had 
brought.  lie  looked  them  over  and  said,  as  he  handled  one 
of  them  : 

"  Oh,  ye're  there,  are  ye  ?  I  kenned  I  wad  get  ye  some 
day,  impidence.  Ye  hae  nae  business  i'  this  pool  ony  wa5\ 
Ye  belang  half  a  mile  faurer  up,  my  lad  ;  ye'll  bite  aff  nae 
mair  o'  my  heuks.  There  maun  be  three  o'  them  i'  his  guts 
the  noo " 


154  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

Here  Winsome  looked  a  meaning  look  at  him,  upon 
which  Andra  said : 

"  I'm  juist  gaun.  Ye  needna  tell  me  that  it's  kye-time. 
See  you  an'  be  hame  to  tak'  in  yer  grannie's  tea.  Ye're  mair 
likely  to  be  ahint  yer  time  than  me  ! " 

Having  sped  this  Parthian  shaft,  Andra  betook  himself 
over  the  moor  with  his  backful  of  spoil. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

BAREIERS    BREAKING. 

"  Andra  is  completely  spoiled,"  exclaimed  Winsome ; 
"  he  is  a  clever  boy,  and  I  fear  we  have  given  him  too  much 
of  his  own  will.     Only  Jess  can  manage  him." 

AVinsome  felt  the  reference  to  be  somewhat  unfortunate. 
It  was,  of  course,  no  matter  to  her  whether  a  servant  lass 
put  a  flower  in  Ralph  Peden's  coat ;  though,  even  as  she 
said  it,  she  owned  to  herself  that  Jess  was  different  from 
other  servant  maids,  both  by  nature  and  that  quickness  of 
tongue  which  she  had  learned  when  abroad. 

Still,  the  piquant  resentment  Winsome  felt,  gave  just 
that  touch  of  waywardness  and  caprice  which  was  needed 
to  make  her  altogether  charming  to  Ralph,  whose  acquaint- 
ance with  women  had  been  chiefly  with  those  of  his  father's 
flock,  who  buzzed  about  him  everywhere  in  a  ferment  of 
admiration, 

"  Your  feet  are  wet,"  said  Winsome,  with  charming 
anxiety. 

Andra  was  assuredly  now  far  over  the  moor.  They  had 
rounded  the  jutting  j)oint  of  rock  which  shut  in  the  linn, 
and  were  now  walking  slowly  along  the  burnside,  with  the 


BARRIERS  BREAKING.  155 

misty  sunlight  sinning  upon  them,  with  a  glistering  and 
suffused  green  of  fresh  leaf  sap  in  its  glow.  So  down  that 
glen  many  lovers  had  walked  before. 

Ealph's  heart  beat  at  the  tone  of  Winsome's  inquiry. 
He  hastened  to  assure  her  that,  as  a  matter  of  personal 
liking,  he  rather  preferred  to  go  with  his  feet  wet  in  the 
summer  season. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Winsome,  confidingly,  "  that  if  I 
dared  I  would  run  barefoot  over  the  grass  even  yet.  I  re- 
member to  this  day  the  happiness  of  taking  off  my  stock- 
ings when  I  came  home  from  the  Keswick  school,  and 
racing  over  the  fresh  grass  to  feel  the  daisies  underfoot.  I 
could  do  it  yet." 

"  Well,  let  us,"  said  Ralph  Peden,  the  student  in  divinity, 
daringly. 

Winsome  did  not  even  glance  up.  Of  course,  she  could 
not  have  heard,  or  she  would  have  been  angry  at  the 
preposterous  suggestion.  She  thought  awhile,  and  then 
said : 

"  I  think  that,  more  than  anything  in  the  world,  I  love 
to  sit  by  a  waterside  and  make  stories  and  sing  songs  to  the 
rustle  of  the  leaves  as  the  wind  sifts  among  them,  and 
dream  dreams  all  by  myself." 

Her  eyes  became  very  thoughtful.  She  seemed  to  be  on 
the  eve  of  dreaming  a  dream  now. 

Ealph  felt  he  must  go  away.  He  was  trespassing  on  the 
pleasaunce  of  an  angel. 

"  What  do  you  like  most?  What  would  you  like  best  to 
do  in  all  the  world  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  To  sit  with  you  by  the  waterside  and  watch  you  dream," 
said  Ralph,  whose  education  was  proceeding  by  leaps  and 
bounds. 

Winsome  risked  a  glance  at  him,  though  well  aware  that 
it  was  dangerous. 


156  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

"  You  are  easily  satisfied,"  she  said  ;  "  then  let  us  do  it 
now." 

So  Ealph  and  Winsome  sat  down  like  boy  and  girl  on 
the  fallen  trunk  of  a  fir-tree,  which  lay  across  the  water, 
and  swung  their  feet  to  the  rhythm  of  the  wimpling  burn 
beneath. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  sit  at  the  far  side  of  that 
branch,"  said  Winsome,  suspiciously,  as  Ralph,  compelled 
by  the  exigencies  of  the  position,  settled  himself  jjrecari- 
ously  near  to  her  section  of  the  tree-trunk. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  this  ?  "  asked  Ealph,  with  an 
innocent  look.  Now  no  one  counterfeits  innocence  worse 
than  a  really  innocent  man  who  attempts  to  be  more  inno- 
cent than  he  is. 

So  Winsome  looked  at  him  with  reproach  in  her  e3'es, 
and  slowly  she  shook  her  head.  "  It  might  do  very  well  for 
Jess  Kissock,  but  for  me  it  will  balance  better  if  you  sit  on 
the  other  side  of  the  branch.     We  can  talk  just  as  well." 

Ealph  had  thought  no  more  of  Jess  Kissock  and  her 
flower  from  the  moment  he  had  seen  Winsome.  Indeed, 
the  posy  had  dropped  unregarded  from  his  button-hole 
while  he  was  gathering  up  the  trout.  There  it  had  lain  till 
Winsome,  who  had  seen  it  fall,  accidentally  set  her  foot  on 
it  and  stamped  it  into  the  grass.  This  indicates,  like  a 
hand  on  a  dial,  the  stage  of  her  prepossession.  A  day  before 
she  had  nothing  regarded  a  flower  given  to  Ealph  Peden  ; 
and  in  a  little  while,  when  the  long  curve  has  at  last  been 
turned,  she  will  not  regard  it,  though  a  hundred  women 
give  flowers  to  the  beloved. 

"  I  told  you  I  should  come,"  said  Ealph,  beginning  the 
personal  tale  which  always  waits  at  the  door,  whatever 
lovers  may  say  when  they  first  meet.  Winsome  was  medi- 
tating a  conversation  about  the  scenery  of  the  dell.  She 
needed  also  some  botanical  information  which  should  aid 


BARRIERS  BREAKING.  157 

ber  in  the  selection  of  plants  for  a  herbarium.  But  on  this 
occasion  Ealph  was  too  quick  for  her.  "  I  told  you  I  should 
come,"  said  Ealph  boldly,  "  and  so  you  see  I  am  here,"  he 
concluded,  rather  lamely. 

"  To  see  my  grandmother,"  said  Winsome,  with  a  touch 
of  archness  in  her  tone  or  in  her  look — Ralph  could  not 
tell  which,  though  he  eyed  her  closely.  He  wished  for  the 
first  time  that  the  dark-brown  eyelashes  which  fringed  her 
lids  were  not  so  long.  He  fancied  that,  if  he  could  only 
have  seen  the  look  in  the  eyes  hidden  underneath,  he  might 
have  risked  changing  to  the  other  side  of  the  unkindly  front- 
ier of  fir-bough  which  marked  him  off  from  the  land  of 
promise  on  the  farther  side. 

But  he  could  not  see,  and  in  a  moment  the  chances  were 
past. 

"Not  only  to  see  your  grandmother,  who  has  been  very 
kind  to  me,  but  also  to  see  you,  who  have  not  been  at  all 
kind  to  me,"  answered  Ralph. 

"  And  pray.  Master  Ralph  Peden,  how  have  I  not  been 
kind  to  you  ?  "  said  Winsome  with  dignity,  giving  him  the 
full  benefit  of  a  pair  of  apparently  reproachful  eyes  across 
the  fir-branch. 

Now  Ralph  had  strange  impulses,  and,  like  Winsome, 
certainly  did  not  talk  by  rule. 

"I  do  wish,"  he  said  complainingly,  with  his  head  a  lit- 
tle to  one  side,  "  that  you  would  only  look  at  me  with  one 
eye  at  a  time.     Two  like  that  are  too  much  for  a  man." 

This  is  that  same  Ralph  Peden  whose  opinions  on  wonuui 
were  written  in  a  lost  note-book  which  at  this  present  mo- 
ment is — we  shall  not  say  where. 


11 


158  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

SUCH    SWEET   PERIL. 

Winsome  looked  away  down  the  glen,  and  strove  to 
harden  her  face  into  a  superhuman  indignation. 

"  That  he  should  dare — the  idea  !  " 

But  it  so  happened  that  the  idea  so  touched  that  rare 
gift  of  humour,  and  the  picture  of  herself  looking  at  Ealph 
Peden  solemnly  with  one  eye  at  a  time,  in  order  at  once  to 
spare  his  susceptibilities  and  give  the  other  a  rest,  Avas  too 
much  for  her.  She  laughed  a  peal  of  rippling  merriment 
that  sent  all  the  blackbirds  indignant  out  of  their  copses  at 
the  infringement  of  their  prerogative. 

Ralph's  humour  was  slower  and  a  little  grimmer  than 
Winsome's,  whose  sunny  nature  had  blossomed  out  amid 
the  merry  life  of  the  woods  and  streams.  But  there  was  a 
sternness  in  both  of  them  as  well,  that  was  of  the  heather 
and  the  moss  hags.  And  that  would  in  due  time  come  out. 
It  is  now  their  day  of  love  and  bounding  life.  And  there 
are  few  people  in  this  world  who  would  not  be  glad  to  sit 
just  so  at  the  opening  of  the  flower  of  love.  Indeed,  it  was 
hardly  necessary  to  tell  one  another. 

Laughter,  say  the  French  (who  think  that  their  Vamoin' 
is  love,  and  so  will  never  know  anything),  kills  love.  But 
not  the  kind  of  laughter  that  rang  in  the  open  dell  which 
peeped  like  the  end  of  a  great  green-lined  prospect  glass 
upon  the  glimmering  levels  of  Loch  Grannoch ;  nor  yet  the 
kind  of  love  which  in  alternate  currents  pulsed  to  and  fro 
between  the  two  young  people  who  sat  so  demurely  on  either 
side  of  the  great,  many-spiked  fir-branch. 

"  Is  not  this  nice  ?  "  said  Winsome,  shrugging  her  shoul- 
ders  contentedly  and  swinging  her  feet. 


SUCH  SWEET  PERIL.  159 

Their  laughter  made  them  better  friends  than  before. 
The  responsive  gladness  in  each  other's  eyes  seemed  part 
of  the  midsummer  stillness  of  the  afternoon.  Above,  a  red 
squirrel  dropped  the  husks  of  larch  tassels  upon  them,  and 
peered  down  upon  them  with  his  bright  eyes.  He  was 
thinking  himself  of  household  duties,  and  had  his  own 
sweetheart  safe  at  home,  nestling  in  the  bowl  of  a  great 
beech  deep  in  the  bowering  wood  by  the  loch. 

"  I  liked  to  hear  you  speak  of  your  father  to-day,"  said 
Winsome,  still  swinging  her  feet  girlishly.  "  It  must  be  a 
great  delight  to  have  a  father  to  go  to.  I  never  remember 
father  or  mother." 

Her  eyes  were  looking  straight  before  her  now,  and  a 
depth  of  tender  wistfulness  in  them  went  to  Ralph's  heart. 
He  was  beginning  to  hate  the  branch. 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  "  is  often  stern  to  others,  but  he 
has  never  been  stern  to  me — always  helpful,  full  of  ten- 
derness and  kindness.  Perhaps  that  is  because  I  lost  my 
mother  almost  before  I  can  remember." 

Winsome's  wet  eyes,  with  the  lashes  curving  long  over 
the  under  side  of  the  dark-blue  iris,  were  turned  full  on  him 
now  with  the  tenderness  of  a  kindred  pity. 

"  Do  you  know  I  think  that  your  father  was  once  kind 
to  my  mother.  Grandmother  began  once  to  tell  me,  and 
then  all  at  once  would  tell  me  no  more — I  think  because 
grandfather  was  there." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  my  father  ever  knew  your  mother," 
answered  Ralph. 

"  Of  course,  he  would  never  tell  you  if  he  did,"  said  the 
woman  of  experience,  sagely;  "but  grandmother  has  a  ])or- 
trait  in  an  oval  miniature  of  your  father  as  a  young  man, 
and  my  mother's  name  is  on  the  back  of  it." 

"  Her  maiden  name?"  queried  Ral])h. 

Winsome  Charteris  nodded.      Then  she  said  wistfully  : 


160  THE  LILAC   SUXBONNET. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  all  about  it.  I  think  it  is  very  hard  that 
grandmother  will  not  tell  me  !  " 

Then,  after  a  silence  which  a  far-ofE  cuckoo  filled  in  with 
that  voice  of  his  which  grows  slower  and  fainter  as  the  mid- 
summer heats  come  on,  Winsome  said  abruj^tly,  "  Is  your 
father  ever  hard  and — unkind  ?  " 

Ealph  started  to  his  feet  as  if  hastily  to  defend  his  father. 
There  was  something  in  Winsome's  eyes  that  made  him  sit 
down  again — something  shining  and  tender  and  kind. 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  "  is  very  silent  and  reserved,  as  I 
fear  I  too  have  been  till  I  came  down  here  "  [he  meant  to 
say, "  Till  I  met  you,  dear,"  but  he  could  not  manage  it] , "  but 
he  is  never  hard  or  unkind,  except  perhaps  on  matters  con- 
nected with  the  Marrow  kirk  and  its  order  and  discipline. 
Then  he  becomes  like  a  stone,  and  has  no  pity  for  himself  or 
any,  I  remember  him  once  forbidding  me  to  come  into  the 
study,  and  compelling  me  to  keep  my  own  garret-room  for 
a  month,  for  saying  that  I  did  not  see  much  difference  be- 
tween the  Marrow  kirk  and  the  other  kirks.  But  I  am  sure 
he  could  never  be  unkind  or  hurtful  to  any  one  in  the  world. 
But  why  do  you  ask,  Mistress  Winsome '? " 

"  Because — because — "  she  paused,  looking  down  now, 
the  underwells  of  her  sweet  eyes  brimming  to  the  overflow 
— "  because  something  grandfather  said  once,  when  he  was 
very  ill,  made  me  wonder  if  your  father  had  ever  been  un- 
kind to  my  mother." 

Two  great  tears  overflowed  from  under  the  dark  lashes 
and  ran  down  Winsome's  cheek.  Ralph  was  on  the  right 
side  of  the  branch  now,  and,  strangely  enough.  Winsome  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it.  He  had  a  lace-edged  handkerchief 
in  his  hand  which  had  been  his  mother's,  and  all  that  was 
loving  and  chivalrous  in  his  soul  was  stirred  at  the  sight  of 
a  woman's  tears.  He  had  never  seen  them  before,  and  there 
is  nothing  so  thrilling  in  the  world  to  a  young  man.     Gen- 


SUCH  SWEET  PERIL.  161 

tly,  with  a  light,  firm  hand,  he  touched  Winsome's  cheek, 
instinctively  murmuring  tenderness  which  no  one  had  ever 
used  to  him  since  that  day  long  ago,  when  his  mother  had 
hung,  with  the  love  of  a  woman  who  knows  that  she  must 
give  up  all,  over  the  cot  of  a  boy  whose  future  she  could 
not  foresee. 

For  a  thrilling  moment  Winsome's  golden  coronet  of 
curls  touched  his  breast,  and,  as  he  told  himself  after  long 
years,  rested  willingly  there  while  his  heart  beat  at  least 
ten  times.  Unfortunately,  it  did  not  take  long  to  beat  ten 
times. 

One  moment  more,  and  without  any  doubt  Kalph  would 
have  taken  Winsome  in  his  arms.  But  the  girl,  with  that 
inevitable  instinct  which  tells  a  woman  when  her  waist  or 
her  lips  are  in  danger — matters  upon  which  no  woman  is 
ever  taken  by  surprise,  whatever  she  may  pretend — drew 
quietly  back.     The  time  was  not  yet. 

"  Indeed,  you  must  not,  you  must  not  think  of  me. 
You  must  go  away.  You  know  that  there  are  only  pain 
and  danger  before  us  if  you  come  to  see  me  any  more." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  know  anything  of  the  kind.  I  am 
sure  that  my  father  could  never  be  unkind  to  any  creature, 
and  I  am  certain  that  he  was  not  to  your  mother.  But 
what  has  he  to  do  with  us.  Winsome? " 

Her  name  sounded  so  perilously  sweet  to  her,  said  thus 
in  Ralph's  low  voice,  that  once  again  her  eyes  met  his  in 
that  full,  steady  gaze  which  tells  heart  secrets  and  brings 
either  life-long  joys  or  unending  regrets.  Nor — as  we  look 
— can  we  tell  which  ? 

"I  cannot  speak  to  you  now,  Ralph,"  she  said,  "but  I 
know  that  you  ought  not  to  come  to  see  me  any  more. 
There  must  be  something  strange  and  wicked  about  me. 
I  feel  that  there  is  a  cloud  over  me,  Ralph,  and  I  do  not 
want  you  to  come  under  it." 


162  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

At  the  first  mention  of  his  name  from  the  lips  of  his  be- 
loved, Ralph  drew  very  close  to  her,  with  that  instinctive 
drawing  which  he  was  now  experiencing.  It  was  that  irre- 
sistible first  love  of  a  man  who  has  never  wasted  himself 
even  on  the  harmless  flirtations  which  are  said  to  be  the 
embassies  of  love. 

But  Winsome  moved  away  from  him,  walking  down 
towards  the  mouth  of  the  linn,  through  the  thickly  wooded 
glen,  and  underneath  the  overarching  trees,  with  their  en- 
lacing lattice-work  of  curving  boughs. 

"  It  is  better  not,"  she  said,  almost  pleadingly,  for  her 
strength  was  failing  her.  She  almost  begged  him  to  be 
merciful. 

"  But  you  believe  that  I  love  you,  Winsome  ? "  he  per- 
sisted. 

Low  in  her  heart  of  hearts  Winsome  believed  it.  Her 
ear  drank  in  every  word.  She  was  silent  only  because  she 
was  thirsty  to  hear  more.  But  Ealph  feared  that  he  had 
fatally  offended  her. 

"Are  you  angry  with  me,  Winsome?"  he  said,  bending 
from  his  masculine  height  to  look  under  the  lilac  sunbonnet. 

Winsome  shook  her  head.  "  Not  angrv,  Ealj^h,  only 
sorry  to  the  heart." 

She  stopped  and  turned  round  to  him.  She  held  out  a 
hand,  when  Ealph  took  it  in  both  of  his.  There  was  in  the 
touch  a  determination  to  keep  the  barriers  slight  but  sure 
between  them.     He  felt  it  and  understood. 

"Listen,  Ralph,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  shming 
eyes,  in  which  another  man  would  have  read  the  love,  "  I 
want  you  to  understand.  There  is  a  fate  about  those  who 
love  me.  My  mother  died  long  ago ;  my  father  I  never 
knew ;  my  grandfather  and  grandmother  are — what  you 
know,  because  of  me ;  Mr.  Welsh,  at  the  Manse,  who  used  to 
love  me  and  pet  me  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  now  does  not 


SUCH  SWEET  PERIL.  I(j3 

speak  to  me.  There  is  a  dark  cloud  all  about  me ! "  said 
Winsome  sadly,  yet  bravely  and  determinedly. 

Yet  she  looked  as  bright  and  sunshiny  as  her  own  name, 
as  if  God  had  just  finished  creating  her  that  minute,  and 
had  left  the  Sabbath  silence  of  thanksgiving  in  her  eyes. 
Ralph  Peden  may  be  forgiven  if  he  did  not  attend  much 
to  what  she  said.  As  long  as  Winsome  was  in  the  world, 
he  would  love  her  just  the  same,  whatever  she  said. 

"  What  the  cloud  is  I  cannot  tell,"  she  went  on ;  "  but 
my  grandfather  once  said  that  it  would  break  on  whoever 
loved  me — and — and  I  do  not  want  that  one  to  be  you." 

Ealph,  who  had  kept  her  hand  a  willing  prisoner,  close 
and  warm  in  his,  would  have  come  nearer  to  her. 

He  said :  "  Winsome,  dear  "  (the  insidious  wretch  !  he 
thought  that,  because  she  was  crying,  she  would  not  notice 
the  addition,  but  she  did) — "  Winsome,  dear,  if  there  be  a 
cloud,  it  is  better  that  it  should  break  over  two  than  over 
one." 

"  But  not  over  you,"  she  said,  with  a  soft  accent,  which 
should  have  been  enough  for  any  one,  but  foolish  Ralph  was 
already  fixed  on  his  own  next  words : 

"  If  you  have  few  to  love  you,  let  me  be  the  one  who  will 
love  you  all  the  time  and  altogether.  I  am  not  afraid  ;  there 
will  be  two  of  us  against  the  world,  dear." 

Winsome  faltered.  She  had  not  been  wooed  after  this 
manner  before.  It  was  perilously  sweet.  Little  ticking 
pulses  beat  in  her  head.  A  great  yearning  came  to  her  to 
let  herself  drift  up  on  a  sea  of  love.  That  love  of  giving  up 
all,  which  is  the  precious  privilege,  the  saving  do\vry  or 
utter  undoing  of  women,  surged  in  upon  her  heart. 

She  drew  away  her  hand,  not  quickly,  but  slowly  and 
firmly,  and  as  if  she  meant  it.  "  I  have  come  to  a  decision 
— I  have  made  a  vow,"  she  said.  She  paused,  and  looked 
at  Ralph  a  little  defiantly,  hoping  that  he  would  take  the 


164  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

law  iuto  his  own  hands,  and  forbid  the  decision  and  dis- 
allow the  vow. 

But  Ralph  was  not  yet  enterprising  enough,  and  took 
her  words  a  little  too  seriously.  He  only  stood  looking  at 
her  and  waiting,  as  if  her  decision  were  to  settle  the  fate  of 
kingdoms. 

Then  Winsome  emitted  the  declaration  which  has  been 
so  often  made,  at  which  even  the  more  academic  divinities 
are  said  to  smile,  "  I  am  resolved  never  to  marry ! " 

An  older  man  would  have  laughed.  He  might  probably 
have  heard  something  like  this  before.  But  Ralph  had  no 
such  experience,  and  he  bowed  his  head  as  to  an  invincible 
fate — for  which  stupidity  Winsome's  grandmother  would 
have  boxed  his  ears. 

"But  I  may  still  love  you.  Winsome?"  he  said,  very 
quietly  and  gently. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  must  not — you  must  not  love  me!  Indeed, 
you  must  not  think  of  me  any  more.     You  must  go  away." 

"Go  away  I  can  and  will,  if  you  say  so.  Winsome;  but 
even  you  do  not  believe  that  I  can  forget  you  when  I 
like." 

"  And  you  will  go  away?"  said  Winsome,  looking  at  him 
with  eyes  that  would  have  cliaiued  a  Stoic  philosopher  to  the 
spot. 

"  Yes,"  said  Enlph,  perjuring  his  intentions.  ^ 

"  And  you  will  not  try  to  see  me  any  more — you  prom- 
ise?" she  added,  a  little  spiteful  at  the  readiness  with  which 
he  gave  his  word. 

So  Ralph  made  a  promise.  He  succeeded  in  keeping 
it  just  twenty-four  hours — which  was,  on  the  whole,  very 
creditable,  considering. 

What  else  he  might  have  promised  we  cannot  tell — cer- 
tainly anything  else  asked  of  him  so  long  as  Winsome  con- 
tinued to  look  at  him. 


SUCH  SWEET   PERIL.  165 

Those  who  have  never  made  just  such  promises,  or  lis- 
tened to  them  being  made — occupations  equally  blissful  and 
equally  vain — had  better  pass  this  chapter  by.  It  is  not  for 
the  uninitiated.     But  it  is  true,  nevertheless. 

So  in  silence  they  walked  down  to  the  opening  of  the 
glen.  As  they  turned  into  the  broad  expanse  of  glorious 
sunshine  the  shadows  were  beginning  to  slant  towai-ds  them. 
Loch  Grannoch  was  darkening  into  pearl  grey,  under  the 
lee  of  the  hill.  Down  by  the  high-backed  bridge,  which 
sprang  at  a  bound  over  the  narrow's  of  the  lane,  there  was 
a  black  patch  on  the  greensward,  and  the  tripod  of  the 
gipsy  pot  could  faintly  be  distinguished. 

Ralj)h,  who  had  resumed  Winsome's  hand  as  a  right, 
pointed  it  out.  It  is  strange  how  quickly  pleasant  little 
fashions  of  that  kind  tend  to  perpetuate  themselves ! 

As  Winsome's  grandmother  would  have  said,  "  It's  no 
easy  turnin'  a  coo  when  she  gets  the  gate  o'  the  corn." 

Winsome  looked  at  the  green  patch  and  the  dark  spot 
upon  it,  "  Tell  me,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him,  "  why  you 
ran  away  that  day  ?  " 

Ealph  Peden  was  nothing  if  not  frank.  "  Because,"  he 
said,  "  I  thought  you  were  going  to  take  off  your  stock- 
ings! " 

Through  the  melancholy  forebodings  which  Winsome 
had  so  recently  exhibited  there  rose  the  contagious  blos- 
som of  mirth,  that  never  could  be  long  away  even  from  such 
a  fate-harassed  creature  as  Winsome  Charteris  considered 
herself  to  be.  "  Poor  fellow,"  she  said,  "  you  must  indeed 
have  been  terribly  frightened  !  " 

"  I  was,"  said  Ralph  Peden,  with  conviction.  "But  I 
do  not  think  I  should  feel  quite  the  same  about  it  now  !" 

They  walked  silently  to  the  foot  of  the  Craig  Ronald 
loaning,  where  by  mutual  consent  they  paused. 

Winsome's  hand  was  still  in  Ralph's.    She  had  forgotten 


166  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

to  take  it  away.  She  was,  however,  still  resolved  to  do  her 
duty. 

"  Now  you  are  sure  you  are  not  going  to  think  of  me  any 
more?"  she  asked. 

"  Quite  sure,"  said  Ealph,  promptly. 

Winsome  looked  a  little  disappointed  at  the  readiness  of 
the  answer.  "  And  you  won't  try  to  see  me  any  more  ?  "  she 
asked,  plaintively. 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Ealph,  who  had  some  new  ideas. 

Winsome  looked  still  more  disappointed.  This  was  not 
what  she  had  expected. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ralph,  "  because  I  shall  not  need  to  think 
of  you  again,  for  I  shall  never  stop  thinking  of  you ;  and  I 
shall  not  try  to  see  you  again,  because  I  know  I  shall.  I 
shall  go  away,  but  I  shall  come  back  again  ;  and  I  shall 
never  give  you  up,  though  every  friend  forbid  and  every 
cloud  in  the  heavens  break  !  " 

The  gladness  broke  into  his  love's  face  in  spite  of  all 
her  gallant  determination. 

"But  remember,"  said  Winsome,  "I  am  never  going  to 
marry.     On  that  point  I  am  quite  determined." 

"  You  can  forbid  me  marrying  you,  Winsome  dear,"  said 
Ealph,  "  but  you  cannot  help  me  loving  you." 

Indeed  on  this  occasion  and  on  this  point  of  contro- 
versy Winsome  did  not  betray  any  burning  desire  to  contra- 
dict him.  She  gave  him  her  hand — still  with  the  withhold- 
ing power  in  it,  however,  which  told  Ealph  that  his  hour 
was  not  yet  come. 

He  bowed  and  kissed  it — once,  twice,  thrice.  And  to 
him  who  had  never  kissed  woman  before  in  the  way  of  love, 
it  was  more  than  many  caresses  to  one  more  accustomed. 

Then  she  took  her  way,  carrying  her  hand  by  her  side 
tingling  with  consciousness.  It  seemed  as  if  Ebie  Farrish, 
who  was  at  the  watering-stone  as  she  passed,  could  read 


OPINIONS  OF  SAUNDERS  MOWDIEWORT.  167 

what  was  written  upon  it  as  plain  as  an»  advertisement. 
Slie  put  it,  therefore,  into  the  lilac  sunbounet  and  so 
passed  by. 

Ralph  watched  her  as  she  glided,  a  tall  and  graceful 
young  figure,  under  the  archway  of  the  trees,  till  he  could  no 
longer  see  her  light  dress  glimmering  through  the  glades  of 
the  scattered  oaks. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   OPINIONS    OF    SAUNDERS    MOWDIEWORT    UPON    BESOM- 
SHANKS. 

Ralph  Peden  kept  his  promise  just  twenty-four  hours, 
which  under  the  circumstances  was  an  excellent  perform- 
ance. That  evening,  on  his  return  to  the  manse.  Manse 
Bell  handed  him,  with  a  fine  affectation  of  unconcern,  a  let- 
ter with  the  Edinburgh  post-mark,  which  had  been  brought 
with  tenpence  to  pay,  from  Cairn  Edward.  Manse  Bell  was 
a  smallish,  sharp-tongued  woman  of  forty,  with  her  eyes 
very  close  together.  She  was  renowned  throughout  the  coun- 
try for  her  cooking  and  her  temper,  the  approved  excel- 
lence of  the  one  being  supposed  to  make  up  for  the  difliicult 
nature  of  the  other. 

The  letter  was  from  his  father.  It  began  with  many 
inquiries  as  to  his  progress  in  the  special  studies  to  which 
he  had  been  devoting  himself.  Then  came  many  counsels 
as  to  avoiding  all  entanglements  with  the  erroneous  views 
of  Socinians,  Erastians,  and  Pelagians  In  conclusion,  a  day 
was  suggested  on  Avhich  it  would  be  convenient  for  the 
presbytery  of  the  Marrow  kirk  to  meet  in  Edinburgh  in 
order  to  put  Ralph  through  his  trials  for  license.  Then  it 
was  that  Ralph  Peden  felt  a  tingling  sense  of  shame.     Not 


168  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

only  had  he  to  a  great  extent  forgotten  to  prepare  himself 
for  his  examinations,  which  would  be  no  great  difficulty  to 
a  college  scholar  of  his  standing,  but  unconsciously  to  him- 
self his  mind  had  slackened  its  interest  in  his  licensing. 
The  Marrow  kirk  had  receded  from  him  as  the  land  falls 
back  from  a  ship  which  puts  out  to  sea,  swiftly  and  silently. 
He  was  conscious  that  he  had  paid  far  more  attention  to 
his  growing  volume  of  poems  than  he  had  done  to  his  dis- 
courses for  license;  though  indeed  of  late  he  had  given  little 
attention  to  either. 

He  went  up-stairs  and  looked  vaguely  at  his  books.  He 
found  that  it  was  only  by  an  effort  that  he  could  at  all  think 
himself  into  the  old  Eal])h,  who  had  shaken  his  head  at 
Calvin  under  the  broom-bush  by  the  Grannoch  "Water. 
Sharp  penitence  rode  hard  upon  Ralph's  conscieuce.  He 
sat  down  among  his  neglected  books.  From  these  he  did 
not  rise  till  the  morning  fully  broke.  At  last  he  lay  down 
on  the  bed,  after  looking  long  at  tlie  ridge  of  j^ines  which 
stood  sharp  up  against  the  morning  sky,  behind  which  Craig 
Ronald  lay.  Then  the  underlying  pang,  which  he  had  been 
crushing  down  by  the  night's  work  among  the  Hebrew  roots, 
came  triumphantly  to  the  surface.  He  must  leave  the  manse 
of  Dullarg,  and  with  it  that  solitary  white  farmhouse  on  the 
braeface,  the  orchard  at  the  back  of  it,  and  the  rose-clamb- 
ered gable  from  which  a  dear  Avindow  looked  down  the 
valley  of  the  Grannoch,  and  up  to  the  heathery  brow  of  the 
Crae  Hill. 

So,  unrefreshed,  yet  unconscious  of  the  need  of  any  re- 
freshment, Ralph  Peden  rose  and  took  his  place  at  the  manse 
table. 

"  I  saw  your  candle  late  yestreen,"  said  the  minister, 
pausing  to  look  at  the  young  man  over  the  wooden  platter 
of  porridge  which  formed  the  frugal  and  sufficient  break- 
fast of  the  two. 


OPINIONS   OF  SAUNDERS  MOWDIEWORT.  169 

Porridge  for  breakfast  and  porridge  for  supper  are  the 
cure-alls  of  the  true  Galloway  man.  It  is  not  every  Scot  who 
stands  through  all  temptation  so  square  in  the  right  way  as 
morning  and  night  to  confine  himself  to  these  ;  but  he  wlio 
does  so  shall  have  his  reward  in  a  rare  sanity  of  judgment 
and  lightness  of  spirit,  and  a  capacity  for  work  unknown 
to  countrymen  of  less  Spartan  habit. 

So  Ralph  answered,  looking  over  his  own  "  cogfu'  o' 
brose  "  as  Manse  Bell  called  them,  "  1  was  reading  the  book 
of  Joel  for  the  second  time." 

"  Then  you  have,"  said  the  minister,  "  finished  your 
studies  in  the  Scripture  character  of  the  truly  good  woman 
of  the  Proverbs,  with  which  you  were  engaged  on  your  first 
coming  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  quite  finished,"  said  Ralph,  looking  a  little 
strangely  at  the  minister. 

"  You  ought  always  to  finish  one  subject  before  you 
begin  another,"  said  Mr.  Welsh,  with  a  certain  slow  senten- 
tiousness. 

By-and-bye  Ralph  got  away  from  the  table,  and  in  the 
silence  of  his  own  room  gave  himself  to  a  repentant  and 
self-accusing  day  of  study.  Remorsefully  sad,  with  many 
searchings  of  heart,  he  questioned  whether  indeed  he  were 
fit  for  the  high  office  of  minister  in  the  kirk  of  the  Marrow ; 
whether  he  could  now  accept  that  narrow  creed,  and  take 
up  alone  the  burden  of  these  manifold  pretestings.  It  was 
for  this  that  he  had  been  educated ;  it  was  for  this  that  he 
had  been  given  his  place  at  his  father's  desk  since  ever  he 
could  remember. 

Here  he  had  studied  in  the  far-off  days  of  his  boyhood 
strange  deep  books,  the  flavour  of  which  only  he  retained. 
He  had  learned  his  letters  out  of  the  Bible — the  Old  Testa- 
ment. He  had  gone  through  the  Psalms  from  beginning  to 
end  before  he  was  six.    He  remembered  that  the  paraphrases 


170  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

were  torn  out  of  all  the  Bibles  in  the  manse.  Indeed,  they 
existed  only  in  a  rudimentary  form  even  in  the  great  Bible 
in  the  kirk  (in  which  by  some  oversight  a  heathen  binder 
had  bound  them),  but  Allan  Welsh  had  rectified  this  by  past- 
ing them  up,  so  that  no  preacher  in  a  moment  of  demoniac 
possession  might  give  one  out.  What  would  have  happened 
if  this  had  occurred  in  the  Marrow  kirk  it  is  perhajis  bet- 
ter only  guessing.  At  twelve  Ralph  was  already  far  on  in 
Latin  and  Greek,  and  at  thirteen  he  could  read  plain  nar- 
rative Hebrew,  and  had  a  Hebrew  Bible  of  his  own  in  which 
he  followed  his  father,  to  the  admiration  of  all  the  con- 
gregation. 

Prigs  of  very  pure  water  have  sometimes  been  manufac- 
tured by  just  such  means  as  this. 

Sometimes  his  father  would  lean  over  and  say,  "  My  son, 
what  is  the  expression  for  that  in  the  original  ?  "  whereupon 
Ralph  would  read  the  passage.  It  was  between  Gilbert 
Peden  and  his  Maker  that  sometimes  he  did  this  for  pride, 
and  not  for  information ;  but  Ralph  was  his  only  son,  and 
was  he  not  training  him,  as  all  knew,  in  order  that  he  might 
be  a  missionary  apostle  of  the  great  truths  of  the  protesting 
kirk  of  the  Marrow,  left  to  testify  lonely  and  forgotten  among 
the  scanty  thousands  of  Scotland,  yet  carrying  indubitably 
the  only  pure  doctrine  as  it  had  been  delivered  to  the  saints  ? 

But,  iu  spite  of  all,  the  lad's  bent  Avas  really  towards 
literature.  The  books  of  verses  which  he  kept  under  lock 
and  key  were  the  only  things  that  he  had  ever  concealed  from 
his  father.  Again,  since  he  had  come  to  man's  estate,  the 
articles  he  had  covertly  sent  to  the  Edinhurgh  Magazine 
were  manifest  tokens  of  the  bent  of  his  mind.  All  the  more 
was  he  conscious  of  this,  that  he  had  truly  lived  his  life  be- 
fore the  jealous  face  of  his  father's  God,  though  his  heart 
leaned  to  tlie  milder  divinity  and  the  kindlier  gospel  of  One 
who  was  the  Bearer  of  Burdens. 


OPINIONS  OP  SAUNDERS   MOWDIEWORT.  171 

Ealph  lay  long  on  liis  bed,  on  which  he  had  lain  down  at 
full  length  to  think  out  his  plans,  as  his  custom  was.  It  did 
not  mean  to  leave  Winsome,  this  call  to  Edinburgh.  Ilis 
father  would  not  utterly  refuse  his  consent,  though  he 
might  urge  long  delays.  And,  in  any  case.  Edinburgh  was 
but  two  days'  journey  from  the  DuUarg ;  two  days  on  tlie 
road  by  the  burnsides  and  over  the  heather  hills  was  nothing 
to  him.  But,  for  all  that,  the  aching  would  not  be  stilled. 
Hearts  are  strange,  illogical  things ;  they  will  not  be  argued 
with. 

Finally,  he  rose  with  the  heart  of  him  full  of  the  inten- 
tion of  telling  Winsome  at  once.  He  would  write  to  her  and 
tell  her  that  he  must  see  her  immediately.  It  was  necessary 
for  him  to  acquaint  her  with  what  had  occurred.  So,  with- 
out further  question  as  to  his  motive  in  writing,  Ealph  rose 
and  wrote  a  letter  to  give  to  Saunders  Mowdiewort.  The 
minister's  man  was  always  ready  to  take  a  letter  to  Craig 
Eonald  after  his  day's  work  was  over.  Ilis  inclinations 
jumped  cheerfully  along  with  the  shilling  which  Ealph — who 
had  not  many  such — gave  him  for  his  trouble.  Within  a 
drawer,  the  only  one  in  his  room  that  would  lock,  on  the 
top  of  Ealph's  poems  lay  tlie  white  moss-rose  and  the  for- 
get-me-nots which,  as  a  precious  and  pregnant  emblem  from 
his  love,  Saunders  had  brought  back  with  him. 

As  Ealph  sat  at  the  window  writing  his  letter  to  Win- 
some, he  saw  over  the  hedge  beneath  his  window  the  bent 
form  of  Allan  Welsh — his  great,  pallid  brow  over-domi- 
nating his  face — walking  slowly  to  and  fro  along  the  well- 
accustomed  walk,  at  one  end  of  which  was  the  little  wooden 
summer  house  in  which  was  his  private  oratory.  Even  now 
Ealph  could  see  his  lips  moving  in  the  instancy  of  his  un- 
uttered  supplication.  His  inward  communing  was  so  in- 
tense that  the  agony  of  prayer  seemed  to  shake  his  fi-ail 
body.     Ealph  could  see  him  knit  his  hands  behind  his  back 


172  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

in  a  strong  tension  of  nerves.  Yet  it  seemed  a  right  and 
natural  thing  for  Ealph  to  be  immersed  in  his  own  con- 
cerns, and  to  turn  away  with  the  light  tribute  of  a  sigh  to 
finish  his  love-letter — for,  after  all  (say  they),  love  is  only  a 
refined  form  of  selfishness. 

"  Beloved,"  wrote  Ralph,  "  among  my  many  promises  to 
you  yester  even,  I  did  not  promise  to  refrain  from  writing 
to  you  ;  or  if  I  did,  I  ask  you  to  put  off  your  displeasure 
until  you  have  read  my  letter.  I  am  not,  you  said,  to  come 
to  see  you.  Then  will  you  come  to  meet  me  ?  You  know 
that  I  would  not  ask  you  unless  the  matter  were  important. 
I  am  at  a  cross-roads,  and  I  cannot  tell  which  way  to  go. 
But  I  am  sure  that  you  can  tell  me,  for  your  word  shall  be 
to  me  as  the  whisper  of  a  kind  angel.  Meet  me  to-night,  I 
beseech  you,  for  ere  long  I  must  go  very  far  away,  and  I 
have  much  to  say  to  thee,  my  beloved !  Saunders  will 
bring  any  message  of  time  or  place  safely.  Believing  that 
you  will  grant  me  this  request — for  it  is  the  first  time  and 
may  be  the  last — and  with  all  my  heart  going  out  to  thee,  I 
am  the  man  who  truly  loves  thee. — Ralph  Peden." 

It  was  when  Saunders  came  over  from  his  house  by  tlie 
kirkyard  that  Ralph  left  his  books  and  went  down  to  find 
him.  Saunders  was  in  the  stable,  occupying  himself  with 
the  mysteries  of  Birsie's  straps  and  buckles,  about  which  he 
was  as  particular  as  though  he  were  driving  a  pair  of  bays 
every  day. 

"  An'  this  is  the  letter,  an'  I'm  to  gie  it  to  the  same  lass 
as  I  gied  the  last  yin  till?  I'll  do  that,  an'  thank  ye  kind- 
ly," said  Saunders,  putting  the  letter  into  one  pocket  and 
Ralph's  shilling  into  the  other ;  "  no  that  I  need  onything 
but  white  silver  kind  o'  buckles  friendship.  It's  worth 
your  while,  an'  its  wortli  my  while — that's  the  way  I  look 
at  it." 

Ralph  paused  a  moment.     He  would  have  liked  to  ask 


OPINIONS  OF  SAUNDERS   MOWDIEWORT.  173 

what  Meg  said,  and  how  Winsome  looked,  and  many  other 
things  about  Saunders's  last  visit ;  hut  the  fear  of  appearing 
ridiculous  even  to  Saunders  withheld  him. 

The  grave-digger  went  on  :  "  It's  a  strange  thing — love 
— it  levels  a'.  Noo  there's  me,  that  has  had  a  wife  an'  bur- 
riet  her ;  I'm  juist  as  keen  aboot  gettin'  anither  as  if  I  had 
never  gotten  the  besom  i'  the  sma'  o'  my  back.  Ye  wad 
never  get  a  besom  in  the  sma'  0'  yer  back  ?  "  he  said  in- 
quiringly. 

"  No,"  said  Ealph,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Na,  of  course  no ;  ye  havna  been  mairrit.  But  bide  a 
wee ;  she's  a  fell  active  bit  lass,  that  o'  yours,  an'  I  should 
say" — here  Saunders  spoke  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur — 
"  I  wad  say  that  she  micht  be  verra  handy  wi'  the  besom." 

"  You  must  not  speak  in  that  way,"  began  Ralph,  think- 
ing of  Winsome.  But,  looking  at  the  queer,  puckered  face 
of  Saunders,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  useless 
to  endeavour  to  impress  any  of  his  own  reverence  upon  him. 
It  was  not  worth  the  pains,  especially  as  he  was  assuredly 
speaking  after  his  kind. 

"  Na,  of  course  no,"  replied  Saunders,  with  a  kind  of 
sympathy  for  youth  and  inexperience  in  his  tone ;  "  when 
yer  young  an'  gaun  coortin'  ye  dinna  think  o'  thae  things. 
But  bide  a  wee  till  ye  gaun  on  the  same  errand  the  second 
time,  and  aiblins  the  third  time — I've  seen  the  like,  sir — 
an'  a'  thae  things  comes  intil  yer  reckoning,  so  so  speak." 

"  Really,"  said  Ralph,  "  I  have  not  looked  so  far  for- 
ward." 

Saunders  breathed  on  his  buckle  and  polished  it  with  the 
tail  of  his  coat,  after  which  he  rubbed  it  on  his  knee.  Then 
he  held  it  up  critically  in  a  better  light.  Still  it  did  not 
please  him,  so  he  breathed  on  it  once  more. 

"  'Deed,  an'  wha  could  expect  it?  It's  no  in  youth  to 
think  0'  thae  things — no  till  it's  ower  late.  Koo,  sir,  I'll 
12 


174  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

tell  ye,  whan  I  was  coortin'  my  first,  afore  I  gat  her,  I  could 
hae  etten  [eaten]  her,  an'  the  first  week  efter  Maister 
Teends  mairrit  us,  I  juist  danced  I  was  that  fond  o'  her. 
But  in  anither  month,  faith,  I  thocht  that  she  wad  hae 
etten  me,  an'  afore  the  year  was  oot  I  wussed  she  had.  Aye, 
aye,  sir,  it's  waur  nor  a  lottery,  mairriage-s-it's  a  great  mys- 
tery." 

"  But  how  is  it,  then,  that  you  are  so  anxious  to  get  mar- 
ried again  ? "  asked  Ralph,  to  whom  these  conversations 
with  the  Cuif  were  a  means  of  lightening  his  mind  of  his 
own  cares. 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  Maister  Ralph,"  pursued  the  grave-digger, 
"  I'm  by  inclination  a  social  man,  an'  the  nature  o'  my 
avocation,  so  to  speak,  is  a  wee  unsocial.  Fowk  are  that 
curious.  Noo,  when  I  gang  into  the  square  o'  a  forenicht, 
the  lads  '11  cry  oot,  '  Dinna  be  lookin'  my  gate,  Saunders, 
an'  wonnerin'  whether  I'll  need  a  seven-fit  hole,  or  whether 
a  six-fit  yin  will  pass ! '  Or  maybe  the  bairns'll  cry  oot, 
'  Hae  ye  a  skull  i'  yer  pooch  ? '  The  like  o'  that  tells  on  a 
man  in  time,  sir." 

"  Without  doubt,"  said  Ralph  ;  "  but  how  does  matri- 
mony, for  either  the  first  or  the  second  time,  cure  that  ?  "  ■ 

"  Weel,  sir,  ye  see,  mairriage  mak's  a  man  kind  o'  inde- 
pendent like.  Say,  for  instance,  ye  hae  been  a'  day  at  jobs 
up  i'  the  yaird,  an'  it's  no  been  what  ye  micht  ca'  pleesant 
crunchin'  through  green  wud  an'  waur  whiles.  Noo,  we'll 
say  that  juist  as  a  precaution,  ye  ken,  ye  hae  run  ower  to 
the  Black  Bull  for  a  gless  or  twa  at  noo's  an'  nan's  "  [now 
and  then]. 

"/have  run  over,  Saunders?"  queried  Ralph. 

"  Oh,  it's  juist  a  mainner  o'  speakin',  sir  ;  I  was  takin'  a 
personal  example.  Weel,  ye  gang  hame  to  the  wife  aboot 
the  gloamin',  an'  ye  open  the  door,  an'  ye  says,  says  you, 
pleesant  like,  bcin'  warm  aboot  the  wame,  '  Guid-e'en  to  ye, 


OPINIONS  OP  SAUNDERS  MOWDIEWORT.  175 

guidwife,  my  dawtie,  an'  hoos  a'  thing  been  gaun  wi'  ye  the 
day  ? '  D'ye  think  she  needs  to  luik  roon'  to  ken  a'  aboot  the 
Black  Bull  ?  Na,  na,  she  kens  withoot  even  turnin'  her 
heid.  She  kenned  by  yer  verra  fit  as  ye  cam'  up  the  yaird. 
She's  maybe  stirrin'  something  i'  the  pat.  She  turns  roon' 
wi  the  pat-stick'  1'  her  haund.  '  I'll  dawtie  ye,  my  man  ! ' 
she  says,  an'  ivhang,  afore  ye  ken  whaur  ye  are,  the  pat-stick 
is  acquant  wi'  the  side  o'  yer  heid.  '  I'll  dawtie  ye,  rinnin' 
rakin'  to  the  public-hoose  wi'  yer  hard-earned  shillin's. 
Dawtie  ! '  quo'  she ;  '  faith,  the  Black  Bull's  yer  dawtie  ! '  " 

"  But  how  does  she  know  ?  "  asked  Ealph,  in  the  inter- 
ests of  truth  and  scientific  inquiry. 

Saunders  thought  that  he  was  speaking  with  an  eye  on 
the  future.  He  lifted  up  his  finger  solemnly  :  "  Dinna  ye 
ever  think  that  ye  can  gang  intil  a  public  hoose  withoot  yer 
wife  kennin'.  Na,  it's  no  the  smell,  as  an  unmarrit  man 
micht  think  ;  and  peppermints  is  a  vain  thing,  also  ceeui- 
mons.  It's  juist  their  faculty — aye,  that's  what  it  is — it's  a 
faculty  they  hae ;  an'  they're  a'  alike.  They  ken  as  weel 
wi'  the  back  o'  their  heids  till  ye,  an'  their  noses  fair  stuffit 
wi'  the  cauld,  whether  ye  hae  been  makin'  a  ca'  or  twa  on 
the  road  hame  on  pay-nicht.  I  ken  it's  astonishin'  to  a  sin- 
gle man,  but  ye  had  better  tak'  my  word  for't,  it's  the  case. 
'  Whaur's  that  auchteenpcnce  ? '  Betty  used  to  ask ;  '  only 
twal  an'  sixpence,  an'  your  wages  is  fourteen  shillings — 
forbye  your  chance  frae  mourners  for  happen  the  corp  up 
quick ' — then  ye  hummer  an'  ha',  an'  try  to  think  on  the  lee 
ye  made  up  on  the  road  doon  ;  but  it's  a  gye  queery  thing 
that  ye  canna  mind  o't.  It's  an  odd  thing  hoo  jooky  [nim- 
ble] a  lee  is  whan  ye  want  it  in  time  o'  need  !  " 

Ealph  looked  so  interested  that  Saunders  quite  felt  for 
him. 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  said  he. 

"Then,"  said   Saunders,  nodding  his  head,  so  tliat  it 


1Y6  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

made  the  assertion  of  itself  without  any  connection  with  his 
body — "  then,  say  ye,  then  is  juist  whaur  the  besom  comes 
in  " — he  paused  a  moment  in  deep  thought — "  i'  the  sma' 
o'  yer  back ! "  he  added,  in  a  low  and  musing  tone,  as  of 
one  who  chews  the  cud  of  old  and  pleasant  memories. 
"  An'  ye  may  thank  a  kind  Providence  gin  there's  plenty  o' 
heather  on  the  end  o't.  Keep  aye  plenty  o'  heather  on  the 
end  o'  the  besom,"  said  Saunders ;  "  a  prudent  man  aye  sees 
to  that.  What  is't  to  buy  a  new  besom  or  twa  frae  a  tink- 
ler body,  whan  ye  see  the  auld  yin  gettin'  bare?  Nocht 
ava,  ye  can  tak'  the  auld  yin  oot  to  the  stable,  or  lose  it  some 
dark  nicht  on  the  moor !  0  aye,  a  prudent  man  aye  sees 
to  his  wife's  besom."  Saunders  paused,  musing,  "  Ye'll 
maybe  no  believe  me,  but  often  what  mak's  a'  the  hale  differ 
atween  a  freendly  turn  up  wi'  the  wife,  that  kind  o'  cheers 
a  man'up,  an'  what  ye  micht  ca'  an  onpleesantness — is  juist 
nae  mair  nor  nae  less  than  whether  there's  plenty  o'  heather 
on  his  wife's  besom." 

Saunders  had  now  finished  all  his  buckles  to  his  sat- 
isfaction. He  summed  up  thus  the  conclusion  of  his  great 
argument :  "  A  besom  i'  the  sma'  o'  yer  back  is  interestin' 
an'  enleevinin',  whan  it's  new  an'  bushy ;  but  it's  the  verra 
mischief  an'  a' -whan  ye  get  the  bare  shank  on  the  back  o' 
yer  held — an'  mind 'ye  that." 

"  I  am  very  much  indebted  to  you  for  the  advice,  Saun- 
ders." 

"  Aye,  sir,"  said  Saunders,  "  it's  sound  !  it's  sound  !  I 
can  vouch  for  that." 

Ralph  went  towards  the  door  and  looked  out.  The 
minister  was  still  walking  with  his  hands  behind  his  back. 
He  did  not  in  the  least  hear  what  Saunders  had  said.  He 
turned  again  to  him.  "  And  what  do  you  want  another 
wife  for,  then,  Saunders  ?  " 

"  'Deed,  Maister  Ralph,  to  tell  ye  the  Guid's  truth,  it's 


OPINIONS  OF  SAUNDERS  MOWDIEWORT.  177 

awfu'  deevin'  [deafening]  leevin'  wi'  yin's  mither.  She's  a 
awfu'  woman  to  talk,  though  a  rale  guid  mither  to  me. 
Forbye,  she  canna  tak'  the  besom  to  ye  like  yer  ain  wife — 
the  wife  o'  yer  bosom,  so  to  speak — when  ye  hae  been  to 
the  Black  Bull.  It's  i'  the  natur'  0'  things  that  a  man 
maun  gang  there  by  whiles ;  but  on  the  ither  haund  it's 
richt  that  he  should  get  a  stap  ta'eu  oot  o'  his  bicker  when 
he  comes  hame,  an'  some  way  or  ither  the  best  0'  mithers 
haena  gotten  the  richt  way  o't  like  a  man's  ain  wife." 

"  And  you  think  that  Meg  would  do  it  well  ? "  said 
Ralph,  smiling. 

"  Aye,  sir,  she  wad  that,  though  I'm  thinkin'  that  she 
wad  be  kindlier  wi'  the  besom-shank  than  Jess ;  no  that  I 
wad  for  a  moment  expect  that  there  wad  be  ony  call  for 
siclike,"  he  said,  with  a  look  of  apology  at  Ealph,  which 
was  entirely  lost  on  that  young  man,  "  but  in  case,  sir — in 
case " 

Ralph  looked  in  bewilderment  at  Saunders,  who  was  in- 
dulging in  mystic  winks  and  nods. 

"  You  see,  the  way  o't  is  this,  sir  :  yin's  mither — (an' 
mind,  I'm  far  frae  sayin'  a  word  agin  my  ain  mither — she's 
a  guid  yin,  for  a'  her  tongue,  wliilk,  ye  ken,  sir,  she  canna 
help  ony  mair  than  bein'  a  woman ;)  but  ye  ken,  that  when 
ye  come  hame  frae  the  Black  Bull,  gin  a  man  has  only  his 
mither,  she  begins  to  flyte  on  [scold]  him,  an'  cast  up  to 
him  what  his  faither,  that's  i'  the  grave,  wad  hae  said,  an' 
niayb'^  on  the  back  o'  that  she  begins  the  greetin'.  Noo, 
that  s  no  comfortable,  ava.  A  man  that  gangs  to  the  Black 
Bull  disna  care  a  flee's  hin'  leg  what  his  faither  wad  hae 
said.  He  disna  want  to  be  grutten  ower  [wept  over]  ;  na, 
what  he  wants  is  a  guid-gaun  tongue,  a  wullin'  airm,  an'  a 
heather  besom  no  ower  sair  worn." 

Ralph  nodded  in  his  turn  in  appreciative  comment. 

"  Then,  on  the  morrow's  morn,  when  ye  rub  yer  elbow, 


178  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

an'  fin'  forbye  that  there's  something  on  yer  left  shoother- 
blade  that's  no  on  the  ither,  ye  tak'  a  resolve  that  ye'll  come 
straught  hanie  the  nicht.  Then,  at  e'en,  when  ye  come  near 
the  Black  Bull,  an'  see  the  crony  that  ye  had  a  glass  wi'  the 
nicht  afore,  ye  naturally  tak'  a  bit  race  by  juist  to  get  on 
the  safe  side  o'  yer  hame.  I'm  hearin'  aboot  new-fangled 
folk  that  they  ca'  '  temperance  advocates,'  Maister  Ralph, 
but  for  my  pairt  gie  me  a  lang-shankit  besom,  an'  a  guid- 
wife's  wullin  airm  !  " 

These  are  all   the  opinions  of   Saunders   Mowdiewort 
about  besom-shanks. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

THAT    GIPSY    JESS. 

.Saunders  took  Ralph's  letter  to  Craig  Ronald  with 
him  earlier  that  night  than  usual,  as  Ralph  had  desired 
him.  At  the  high  hill  gate,  standing  directing  the  dogs  to 
gather  the  cows  off  the  hill  for  milking,  he  met  Jess. 

"  Hae  ye  ony  news,  Saunders  ?  "  she  asked,  running  down 
to  the  little  foot-bridge  to  meet  him.  Saunders  took  it  as 
a  compliment ;  and,  indeed,  it  was  done  witli  a  kind  of  elfish 
grace,  which  cast  a  glamour  over  his  eyes.  But  Jess,  who 
never  did  anything  without  a  motive,  really  ran  down  to  be 
out  of  sight  of  Ebie  Farrish,  who  stood  looking  at  her  from 
within  the  stable  door. 

"  Here's  a  letter  for  ye,  Jess,"  Saunders  said,  important- 
ly, handing  her  Ralph's  letter.  "  He  seemed  rale  agitatit 
when  he  brocht  it  in  to  me,  but  I  cheered  him  up  by  tellin' 
him  how  ye  wad  dreel  him  wi'  the  besom-shank  gin  he  waur 
to  gang  to  the  Black  Bull  i'  the  forenichts." 

"  Gang  to  the  Black  Bull ! — what  div  ye  mean,  ye  gom- 


THAT  GIPSY  JESS.  179 

eril  ? — Saunders  I  mean ;  ye  ken  weel  that  Maister  Pedeu 
wadna  gang  to  ony  Black  Bull." 

"  Weel,  na,  I  ken  that ;  it  was  but  a  mainner  o'  speakin' ; 
but  I  can  see  that  he's  fair  daft  ower  ye,  Jess.  I  ken  the 
signs  o'  love  as  weel  as  onybody.  But  hoo's  Meg — an'  do  ye 
think  she  likes  me  ony  better?" 

"  She  was  speakin'  aboot  ye  only  this  mornin',"  an- 
swered Jess  pleasantly,  "  she  said  that  ye  waur  a  rale  solid, 
sensible  man,  no  a  young  ne'er-do-weel  that  naebody  kens 
whaur  he'll  be  by  the  Martinmas  term." 

"Did  Meg  say  that ! "  cried  Saunders  in  high  delight, 
"  Ye  see  what  it  is  to  be  a  sensible  woman.  An'  whaur 
micht  she  be  noo  ?  " 

Now  Jess  knew  that  Meg  was  churning  the  butter,  with 
Jock  Forrest  to  help  her,  in  the  milk-house,  but  it  did  not 
suit  her  to  say  so.  Jess  always  told  the  truth  when  it  suited 
as  well  as  anything  else ;  if  not,  then  it  was  a  pity. 

"  Meg's  ben  the  hoose  wi'  the  auld  fowk  the  noo,"  she 
said,  "but  she'll  soon  be  oot.  Juist  bide  a  wee  an'  bind  the 
kye  for  me." 

Down  the  brae  face  from  the  green  meadowlets  that 
fringed  the  moor  came  the  long  procession  of  cows.  Swing- 
ing a  little  from  side  to  side,  they  came — black  Galloways, 
and  the  red  and  white  breed  of  Ayrshire  in  single  file — the 
wavering  piebald  line  following  the  intricacies  of  the  path. 
Each  full-fed,  heavy-uddered  mother  of  the  herd  came 
marching  full  matronly  with  stately  tread,  blowing  her 
flower-perfumed  breath  from  dewy  nostrils.  The  older  and 
staider  animals — Marly,  and  Dumple,  and  Flecky — came 
stolidly  homeward,  their  heads  swinging  low,  absorbed  in 
meditative  digestion,  and  soberly  retasting  the  sweetly  suc- 
culent grass  of  the  hollows,  and  the  crisper  and  tastier  acid- 
ity of  the  sorrel-mixed  grass  of  the  knolls.  Behind  them 
came  Spotty  and  Speckly,  young  and  frisky  matrons  of  but 


180  THE   LILAC  SUNBON^^ET. 

a  year's  standing,  who  yet  knew  no  better  than  to  run  with 
futile  head  at  Roger,  and  so  encourage  that  short-haired  and 
short-tempered  collie  to  snap  at  their  heels.  Here  also, 
skirmishing  on  flank  and  rear,  was  Winsome's  pet  sheep, 
"  Zachary  Macaulay  " — so  called  because  he  was  a  living 
memorial  to  the  emancipation  of  the  blacks.  Zachary  had 
been  named  by  John  Dusticoat,  who  was  the  i^olitician  of 
Cairn  Edward,  and  "  took  in  "  a  paper.  He  was  an  animal 
of  much  independence  of  mind.  He  utterly  refused  to 
company  with  the  sheep  of  his  kind  and  degree,  and  would 
only  occasionally  condescend  to  accompany  the  cows  to 
their  hill  pasture.  Often  he  could  not  be  induced  to  quit 
poking  his  head  into  every  pot  and  dish  about  the  fai'm- 
yard.  On  these  occasions  he  would  wander  uninvited  with 
a  little  pleading,  broken-backed  bleat  through  every  room 
in  the  house,  looking  for  his  mistress  to  let  him  suck  her 
thumb  or  to  feed  him  on  oatcake  or  potato  parings. 

To-night  he  came  down  in  the  rear  of  the  procession. 
Now  and  then  he  paused  to  take  a  random  crop  at  the  herb- 
age, not  so  much  from  any  desire  for  wayside  refreshment, 
as  to  irritate  Roger  into  attacking  him.  But  Roger  knew 
better.  There  was  a  certain  imjoeriousness  about  Zachary 
such  as  became  an  emancipated  black.  Zachary  rejoiced 
when  Speckly  or  any  of  the  younger  or  livelier  kine  ap- 
proached to  push  him  away  from  a  succulent  patch  of 
herbage.  Then  he  would  tuck  his  belligerent  head  between 
his  legs,  and  drive  fore-and-aft  in  among  the  legs  of  the 
larger  animals,  often  bringing  them  down  full  broadside 
with  the  whole  of  their  extensive  systems  ignominiously 
shaken  up. 

By  the  time  that  Saunders  had  the  cows  safe  into  the 
byre,  Jess  had  the  letter  opened,  read,  and  resealed.  She 
had  resolved,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  on  this  occasion  to  give 
the  letter  to  Winsome.     Jess  ran  into  the  house,  and  find- 


THAT  GIPSY  JESS.  181 

ing  Winsome  reading  in  the  parlour,  gave  her  the  letter  in 
haste. 

"  There's  a  man  waiting  for  the  answer,"  she  said,  "  but 
he  can  easy  bide  a  while  if  it  is  not  ready." 

Winsome,  seeing  it  was  the  handwriting  she  knew  so 
well,  that  of  the  note-book  and  the  poem,  went  into  her  own 
room  to  read  her  first  love-letter.  It  seemed  very  natural 
that  he  should  write  to  her,  and  her  heart  beat  within  her 
quickly  and  strongly  as  she  opened  it.  As  she  unfolded  it 
her  eye  seemed  to  take  in  the  whole  of  the  writing  at  once 
as  if  it  were  a  picture.  She  knew,  before  she  had  read  a 
word,  that  "  beloved  "  occurred  twice  and  "  Winsome  dear" 
twice,  nor  had  she  any  fault  to  find,  unless  it  were  that 
they  did  not  occur  oftener. 

So,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  she  sat  down  and 
wrote  only  a  Jine,  knowing  that  it  would  be  all-sufficient. 
It  was  her  first  love-tryst.  Yet  if  it  had  been  her  twentieth 
she  could  not  have  been  readier. 

"  I  shall  be  at  the  gate  of  the  hill  pasture,"  so  she  wrote, 
"  at  ten  o'clock  to-night." 

It  was  with  a  very  tumultuous  heart  that  she  closed  this 
missive,  and  went  out  quickly  to  give  it  to  Jess  lest  she 
should  repent.  A  day  before,  even,  it  had  never  entered  her 
mind  that  by  any  possibility  she  could  write  such  a  note  to 
a  young  man  whom  she  had  only  known  so  short  a  time. 
But  then  she  reflected  that  certainly  Ralph  Peden  was  not 
like  any  other  young  man ;  so  that  in  this  case  it  was  not 
only  right  but  also  commendable.  lie  was  so  kind  and 
good,  and  so  fond  of  her  grandmother,  that  she  could  not 
let  him  go  so  far  away  without  a  word.  She  ought  at  least 
to  go  and  tell  him  that  he  must  never  do  the  like  again. 
But  she  would  forgive  him  this  time,  after  being  severe  with 
him  for  breaking  his  word,  of  course.  She  sighed  when 
she  thought  of  what  it  is  to  be  young  and  foolish.     Once 


182  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

the  letter  in  Jess's  hands,  these  doubts  and  fears  came 
oftener  to  her.  After  a  few  minutes  of  remorse,  she  ran 
out  in  order  to  reclaim  her  letter,  but  Jess  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  She  was,  in  fact,  at  her  mother's  cottage  up  on 
the  green,  whei-e  she  was  that  moment  employed  in  coer- 
cing her  brother  Andra  to  run  on  a  message  for  her. 
When  she  went  out  of  the  kitchen  with  Winsome's  reply- 
in  her  pocket  she  made  it  her  first  duty  to  read  it.  This 
there  was  no  difficulty  in  doing,  for  opening  letters  was  one 
of  Jess's  simplest  accomplishments.  Then  Jess  knitted  her 
black  brows,  and  thought  dark  and  Pictish  thoughts.  In  a 
few  moments  she  had  made  her  dispositions.  She  was  not 
going  to  let  Winsome  have  Ealph  without  a  struggle.  She 
felt  that  she  h"d  the  rude  primogeniture  of  first  sight. 
Besides,  since  she  had  no  one  to  scheme  for  her,  she  resolved 
that  she  would  scheme  for  herself.  Shut  in  her  mother's 
room  she  achieved  a  fair  imitation  of  Winsome's  letter, 
guiding  herself  by  the  genuine  document  spread  out  before 
her.  She  had  thought  of  sending  only  a  verbal  message, 
but  reflecting  that  Kalph  Peden  had  probably  never  seen 
Winsome's  handwriting,  she  considered  it  safer,  choosing 
between  two  dangers,  to  send  a  written  line. 

"  Meet  me  by  the  waterside  bridge  at  ten  o'clock,"  she 
wrote.  No  word  more.  Then  arose  the  question  of  mes- 
sengers. She  went  out  to  find  Saunders  Mowdiewort ;  she 
got  him  standing  at  the  byre  door,  looking  wistfully  about 
for  Meg.  "  Saunders,"  she  said,  "  you  are  to  take  back  this 
answer  instantly  to  the  young  Master  Peden." 

"  Na,  na,  Jess,  what's  the  hurry?  I  dinna  gang  a  fit  till 
I  hae  seen  Meg,"  said  Saunders  doggedly.  "  Your  affairs  are 
dootless  verra  important,  but  sae  are  mine.  Your  lad  maun 
een  wait  wi'  patience  till  I  gang  hame,  the  same  as  I  hae 
had  mony  a  day  to  wait.     It's  for  his  guid." 

Jess  stamped  her  foot.     It  was  too  irritating  that  her 


THAT   GIPSY  JESS.  183 

combinations  should  fail  because  of  a  Cuif  whom  she  had 
thought  to  rule  with  a  word,  and  upon  whom  she  had  count- 
ed without  a  thought. 

She  could  not  say  {hat  it  was  on  Winsome's  business, 
though  she  knew  that  in  that  case  he  would  have  gone  at  once 
on  the  chance  of  indirectly  pleasuring  Meg.  She  had  made 
him  believe  that  she  herself  was  the  object  of  Ralph  Peden's 
affections.  But  Jess  was  not  to  be  beaten,  for  in  less  than  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  she  had  overcome  the  scruples  of  Andra, 
and  despatched  Jock  Gordon  on  another  message  in  another 
direction.  Jess  believed  that  where  there  is  a  will  there  are 
several  ways  :  the  will  was  her  own,  but  she  generally  made 
the  way  some  one  else's.  Then  Jess  went  into  the  byre,  lift- 
ing up  her  house  gown  and  covering  it  with  the  dust-col- 
oured milking  overall,  in  which  she  attended  to  Speckly  and 
Crummy.  She  had  done  her  best — her  best,  that  is,  for 
Jess  Kissock — and  it  was  with  a  conscience  void  of  offence 
that  she  set  herself  to  do  well  her  next  duty,  which  happened 
to  be  the  milking  of  the  cows.  She  did  not  mean  to  milk 
cows  any  longer  than  she  could  help,  but  in  the  meantime 
she  meant  to  be  the  best  milker  in  the  parish.  Moreover, 
it  was  quite  in  accordance  with  her  character  that,  in  her 
byre  flirtations  with  Ebie  Farrish,  she  should  take  pleasure 
in  his  rough  compliments,  smacking  of  the  field  and  the 
stable.  Jess  had  an  appetite  for  compliments  perfectly 
eclectic  and  cosmopolitan.  Though  well  aware  that  she 
was  playing  this  night  with  the  sharpest  of  edged  tools,  till 
her  messengers  should  return  and  her  combinations  should 
close,  Jess  was  perfectly  able  and  willing  to  give  herself  up 
to  the  game  of  conversational  give-and-take  with  Ebie  Far- 
rish. She  was  a  girl  of  few  genteel  accomplishments,  but 
with  her  gipsy  charm  and  her  frankly  pagan  nature  she 
was  fitted  to  2:0  far. 


181  TEE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    DARK    OF   THE    MOOX   AT   THE    GKANXOCH    BRIDGE. 

Over  the  manse  of  Dullarg,  still  and  grey,  with  only  the 
two  men  in  it ;  over  the  low- walled  rectangular  farm  stead- 
ing of  Craig  Ronald,  fell  alike  the  midsummer  night.  Ten 
o'clock  on  an  early  July  evening  is  in  Galloway  but  a 
modified  twilight.  But  as  the  sun  Avent  down  behind  the 
pines  he  sent  an  angry  gleam  athwart  the  green  braes.  The 
level  cloud-band  into  which  he  plunged  drew  itself  upward 
to  the  zenith,  and,  like  the  eyelid  of  a  gigantic  eye,  shut 
down  as  though  God  in  his  heaven  were  going  to  sleep,  and 
the  world  was  to  be  left  alone. 

It  was  the  dark  of  the  moon,  and  even  if  there  had  been 
full  moon  its  light  would  have  been  as  comjiletely  shut  out 
by  the  cloud  canopy  as  was  the  mild  diffusion  of  the  blue- 
grey  twilight.  So  it  happened  that,  as  Ralph  Peden  took 
his  way  to  his  first  love-tryst,  it  was  all  that  he  could  do  to 
keep  the  path,  so  dark  had  it  become.  But  there  was  no 
rain — hardly  yet  even  the  hint  or  promise  of  rain. 

Yet  under  the  cloud  there  was  a  great  solitariness — the 
murmur  of  a  land  where  no  man  had  come  since  the  mak- 
ing of  the  world.  Down  in  the  sedges  by  the  lake  a  black- 
cap sang  sweetly,  waesomely,  the  nightingale  of  Scotland. 
Far  on  the  moors  a  curlew  cried  out  that  its  soul  was  lost. 
Nameless  things  whinnied  in  the  mist-filled  hollows.  On 
the  low  grounds  there  lay  a  white  mist  knee-deep,  and  Ralph 
Peden  waded  in  it  as  in  a  shallow  sea.  So  in  due  time  he 
came  near  to  the  place  of  his  tryst. 

Never  had  he  stood  so  before.  He  stilled  the  beating  of 
his  heart  with  his  hand,  so  loud  and  riotous  it  was  in  that 
silent  place.  He  could  hear,  loud  as  an  insurrection,  the 
quick,  unequal  double-knocking  in  his  bosom. 


THE  MOON  AT  THE  GRANNOCH  BRIDGE.         185 

A  grasshopper,  roosting  on  a  blade  of  grass  beneath  his 
feet,  tumbled  off  and  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  belated 
"  chirr."  Overhead  somewhere  a  raven  croaked  dismally 
and  cynically  at  intervals.  Ealph's  ears  heard  these  things 
as  he  waited,  with  every  sense  on  the  alert,  at  the  place  of 
his  love-tryst. 

He  thrilled  with  the  subtle  hope  of  strange  possibilities. 
A  mill-race  of  pictures  of  things  sweet  and  precious  ran 
through  his  mind.  He  saw  a  white-spread  table,  with  Win- 
some seated  opposite  to  himself,  tall,  fair,  and  womanly,  the 
bright  heads  of  children  between  them.  And  the  dark 
closed  in.  Again  he  saw  Winsome  with  her  head  on  his 
arm,  standing  looking  out  on  the  sunrise  from  the  hilltop, 
whence  they  had  watched  it  not  so  long  ago.  The  thought 
brought  him  to  his  pocket-book.  He  took  it  out,  and  in 
the  darkness  touched  his  lips  to  the  string  of  the  lilac  sim- 
bonnet.  It  surely  must  be  past  ten  now,  he  thought. 
Would  she  not  come?  He  had,  indeed,  little  right  to  ask 
her,  and  none  at  all  to  expect  her.  Yet  he  had  her  word  of 
promise — one  precious  line.  What  would  he  say  to  her 
when  she  came  ?  He  would  leave  that  to  be  settled  when 
his  arms  were  about  her.  Bat  perhaps  she  would  be  colder 
than  before.  They  would  sit,  he  thought,  on  the  parapet  of 
the  bridge.  There  were  no  fir-branches  to  part  them  with 
intrusive  spikes.     So  much  at  least  should  be  his. 

But  then,  again,  she  might  not  come  at  all !  What  more 
likely  than  that  she  had  been  detained  by  her  grandmother  ? 
How  could  he  expect  it?  Indeed,  he  told  himself  he  did  not 
expect  it.  He  had  come  out  her^  because  it  was  a  fine 
night,  and  the  night  air  cooled  his  brain  for  his  studies. 
His  heart,  hammering  on  his  life's  anvil,  contradicted  him. 
He  could  not  have  repeated  the  Hebrew  alphabet.  His 
head,  bent  a  little  forward  in  the  agony  of  listening,  whirled 
madly  round;  the  aml^ient  darkness  surrounding  all. 


186  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

There  !  He  heard  a  footstep.  There  was  a  light  coming 
down  the  avenue  under  the  eklers.  At  last !  No,  it  was 
only  the  glow-worms  under  the  leaves,  shining  along  the 
grass  by  the  wayside.  The  footstep  was  but  a  restless  sheep 
on  the  hillside.  Then  some  one  coughed,  with  the  sup- 
pressed sound  of  one  who  covers  his  mouth  with  his  hand. 
Ealph  was  startled,  but  almost  laughed  to  think  that  it  was 
still  only  the  lamb  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  moving 
restlessly  about  in  act  to  feed.  Time  and  again  the  blood 
rushed  to  his  temples,  for  he  was  sure  that  he  heard  her 
coming  to  him.  But  it  was  only  the  echo  of  the  blood 
surging  blindly  through  his  own  veins,  or  some  of  the  night 
creatures  fulfilling  their  love-trysts,  and  seeking  their  des- 
tinies under  the  cloud  of  night. 

Suddenly  his  whole  soul  rose  in  revolt  against  him. 
Certainly  now  he  heard  a  light  and  swift  footstep.  There 
was  a  darker  shape  coming  towards  him  against  the  dim, 
faint  grey  glimmer  of  the  loch.  It  was  his  love,  and  she 
had  come  out  to  him  at  his  bidding.  He  had  dreamed  of 
an  angel,  and  lo !  now  he  should  touch  her  in  the  hollow 
night,  and  find  that  she  was  a  warm,  breathing  woman. 

Wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  soft  close  shawl,  she 
came  to  him.  He  could  see  her  now,  but  only  as  something 
darker  against  the  canopy  of  the  night.  So,  in  the  blissful 
dark,  which  makes  lovers  brave,  he  opened  his  arms  to  re- 
ceive her.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  drew  them  to 
him  again  not  empty. 

The  thrill  electric  of  the  contact,  the  yielding  quiescence 
of  the  girl  whom  he  held  to  his  breast,  stilled  his  heart's 
tumultuous  beating.  She  raised  her  head,  and  their  lips 
drew  together  into  a  long  kiss.  What  Avas  this  thing?  It 
was  a  kiss  in  which  he  tasted  a  strange  alien  flavour  even 
through  the  passion  of  it.  A  sense  of  wrong  and  disap- 
pointment flowed  round  Ralph's  heart.     So  on  tlie  bridge 


THE  MOON  AT  THE  GRANNOCH   BRIDGE.         187 

in  the  darkness,  where  many  lovers  had  stood  ever  since  the 
first  Pict  trysted  his  dark-browed  bride  by  the  unbridged 
water,  the  pair  stood  very  stilL  They  only  breathed  each 
other's  breath.  Something  familiar  struck  on  Ralph's 
senses.  He  seemed  to  be  standing  silent  in  the  parlour  at 
Craig  Ronald— not  here,  with  his  arms  round  his  love — and 
somehow  between  them  there  rose  unmistakable  the  per- 
fume of  the  flower  which  for  an  hour  he  had  carried  in  his 
coat  on  the  day  that  he  and  she  went  a-fishing. 

"Beloved,"  he  said  tenderly,  looking  down,  "you  are 
very  good  to  me  to  come ! " 

For  all  reply  a  face  was  held  close  pressed  to  his.  The 
mists  of  night  had  made  her  cheek  damp.  He  passed  his 
hand  across  the  ripples  of  her  hair.  Half  hidden  by  the 
shawl  he  could  feel  the  crisping  of  the  curls  under  his 
fingers. 

It  was  harder  in  texture  than  he  had  fancied  \Yinsome's 
hair  would  be.  He  half  smiled  that  he  had  time  at  such  a 
moment  to  think  such  a  thing.  It  was  strange,  however. 
He  had  thought  a  woman's  hair  was  like  floss  silk — at  least 
Winsome's,  for  he  had  theorized  about  none  other. 

"Winsome,  dear !"  he  said,  again  bending  his  head  to 
look  down,  "  I  have  to  go  far  away,  and  I  wanted  to  tell 
you.  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  sweetest,  for  asking  you 
to  come  ?  I  could  not  go  without  bidding  you  good-bye,  and 
in  the  daytime  1  might  not  have  seen  you  alone.  You 
know  that  I  love  you  with  all  my  life  and  all  my  heart. 
And  you  love  me — at  least  a  little.     Tell  me,  beloved  !" 

Still  there  was  no  answer.  Ralph  waited  with  some 
certitude  and  ease  from  pain,  for  indeed  the  clasping  arms 
told  him  all  he  wished  to  know. 

There  was  a  brightness  low  down  in  the  west.  Strangely 
and  slowly  the  gloomy  eyelid  of  cloud  which  had  fallen 
athwart  the  evening  lifted  for  a  moment  its  sullen  fringe  ; 


188  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

a  misty  twilight  of  lurid  light  flowed  softly  over  the  land. 
The  shawl  fell  back  like  a  hood  from  off  the  girl's  shoul- 
ders. She  looked  up  throbbing  and  palpitating.  Ealph 
Peden  was  clasping  Jess  Kissock  in  his  arms.  She  had 
kept  her  word.  He  had  kissed  her  of  his  own  free  will, 
and  that  within  a  day.  Her  heart  rejoiced  over  Winsome. 
"  So  much,  at  least,  she  cannot  take  from  me." 

Ralph  Peden's  heart  stopped  beating  for  a  tremendous 
interval  of  seconds.  Then  the  dammed-back  blood-surge 
drave  thundering  in  his  ears.  He  swayed,  and  would  have 
fallen  but  for  the  parapet  of  the  bridge  and  the  clinging 
arms  about  his  neck.  All  his  nature  and  love  in  full  career 
stopped  dead.  The  shock  almost  unhinged  his  soul  and 
reason.  It  was  still  so  dark  that,  though  he  could  see  the 
outline  of  her  head  and  the  paleness  of  her  face,  nothing  held 
him  but  the  intense  and  vivid  fascination  of  her  eyes.  Ealph 
would  have  broken  away,  indignant  and  amazed,  but  her 
arms  and  eyes  held  him  close  prisoner,  the  dismayed  tur- 
moil in  his  own  heart  aiding. 

"  Yes,  Ralph  Peden,"  Jess  Kissock  said,  cleaving  to  him, 
"  and  you  hate  me  because  it  is  I  and  not  another.  You 
think  me  a  wicked  girl  to  come  to  you  in  her  place.  But 
you  called  her  because  you  loved  her,  and  I  have  come  be- 
cause I  loved  you  as  much.  Have  I  not  as  much  right? 
Do  not  dream  that  I  came  for  aught  but  that.  Have  I  not 
as  good  a  right  to  love  as  you  ?  " 

She  prisoned  his  face  fiercely  between  her  hands, 
and  held  him  off  from  her  as  if  to  see  into  his  soul  by 
the  light  of  the  lingering  lake  of  ruddy  light  low  in  the 
west. 

"  In  your  Bible  where  is  there  anything  that  hinders  a 
woman  from  loving  ?  Yet  I  know  you  will  despise  me  for 
loving  you,  and  hate  me  for  coming  in  her  place." 

"  I  do  not  hate  you  ! "  said  Ralph,  striving  to  go  without 


THE  MOON  AT  THE  GRANNOCH  BRIDGE.         189 

rudely  unclasping  the  girl's  hands.  Her  arms  fell  instantly 
again  about  his  neck,  locking  themselves  behind. 

"  No,  you  shall  not  go  till  you  have  heard  all,  and  then 
you  can  cast  me  into  the  loch  as  a  worthless  thing  that  you 
are  better  rid  of." 

Through  his  disappointment  and  his  anger,  Ralph  was 
touched.     He  would  have  spoken,  but  the  girl  went  on  : 

"  No,  you  do  not  hate  me — I  am  not  worth  it.  You  de- 
spise me,  and  do  you  think  that  is  any  better  ?  I  am  only  a 
cottar's  child.  I  have  been  but  a  waiting-maid.  But  I 
have  read  how  maids  have  loved  the  kings  and  the  kings 
loved  them.  Yes,  I  own  it.  I  am  proud  of  it.  I  have 
schemed  and  lain  awake  at  nights  for  this.  Why  should  I 
not  love  you?  Others  have  loved  me  without  asking  my 
leave.  Why  should  I  ask  yours?  And  love  came  to  me 
without  your  leave  or  my  own  that  day  on  the  road  when 
you  let  me  carry  your  books." 

She  let  her  arms  drop  from  his  neck  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands,  sobbing  now  with  very  genuine  tears.  Ralph 
could  not  yet  move  away,  even  though  no  longer  held  by 
the  stringent  coercion  of  this  girl's  arms.  He  was  too 
grieved,  too  suddenly  and  bitterly  disappointed  to  have  any 
fixed  thought  or  resolve.  But  the  good  man  does  not  live 
who  can  listen  unmoved  to  the  despairing  catch  of  the  sob- 
bing in  a  woman's  throat.  Then  on  his  hands,  which  he 
had  clasped  before  him,  he  felt  the  steady  rain  of  her  tears ; 
his  heart  went  out  in  a  great  pity  for  this  wayward  girl  who 
was  baring  her  soul  to  him. 

The  whole  note  and  accent  of  her  grief  was  of  unmis- 
takable feeling.  Jess  Kissock  had  begun  in  play,  but  her 
inflammable  nature  kindled  easily  into  real  passion.  For  at 
least  that  night,  by  the  bridge  of  the  Grannoch  water,  she 
believed  that  her  heart  was  broken. 

Ralph  put  his  hand  towards  her  with  some  unformed 


190  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

idea  of  sympathy.  He  murmured  vague  words  of  comfort, 
as  he  might  have  done  to  a  wailing  child  that  had  hurt 
itself  ;  but  he  had  no  idea  how  to  still  the  tempestuous  grief 
of  a  passion-pale  woman. 

Suddenly  Jess  Kissock  slipped  down  and  clasped  him 
about  the  knees.  Her  hair  had  broken  from  its  snood  and 
streamed  a  cloud  of  intense  blackness  across  her  shoulders. 
He  could  see  her  only  weirdly  and  vaguely,  as  one  may  see 
another  by  the  red  light  of  a  wood  ember  in  the  darkness. 
She  seemed  like  a  beautiful,  pure  angel,  lost  by  some  mis- 
chance, praying  to  him  out  of  the  hollow  pit  of  the  night. 

"  I  carried  your  burden  for  you  once,  the  day  I  first  saw 
you.  Let  me  carry  your  burden  for  you  across  the  world.  If 
you  will  not  love  me,  let  me  but  serve  you.  I  would  slave 
so  hard  !     See,  I  am  strong " 

She  seized  his  hands,  gripping  them  till  his  fingers  clave 
together  with  the  pressure. 

"  See  how  I  love  you  !  "  her  hands  seemed  to  say.  Then 
she  kissed  his  hands,  wetting  them  with  the  downfalling  of 
her  tears. 

The  darkness  settled  back  thicker  than  before.  He 
could  not  see  the  kneeling  woman  whose  touch  he  felt.  He 
strove  to  think  what  he  should  do,  his  emotions  and  his 
will  surging  in  a  troubled  maelstrom  about  his  heart. 

But  just  then,  from  out  of  the  darkness  high  on  the  un- 
seen hill  above  them,  there  came  a  cry — a  woman's  cry  of 
pain,  anger,  and  ultimate  danger :  "  Ealph,  Ralph,  come  to 
me — come  ! "  it  seemed  to  say  to  him.  Again  and  again  it 
came,  suddenly  faltered  and  was  silenced  as  if  smothered — 
as  though  a  hand  had  been  laid  across  a  mouth  that  cried 
and  would  not  be  silent. 

Ralph  sprang  clear  of  Jess  Kissock  in  a  moment.  He 
knew  the  voice.  He  would  have  known  it  had  it  come  to 
him  across  the  wreck  of  worlds.      It  was  his  love's  voice. 


THE  HILL  GATE.  191 

She  was  calling  to  him — Ealph  Peden — for  help.  Without  a 
thought  for  the  woman  whose  despairing  words  he  had  just 
listened  to,  he  turned  and  ran,  plunging  into  the  thick 
darkness  of  the  woods,  hillward  in  the  direction  of  the  cry. 
But  he  had  not  gone  far  when  another  cry  was  heard — 
not  the  cry  of  a  woman  this  time,  but  the  shorter,  shriller, 
piercing  yell  of  a  man  at  the  point  of  death — some  deadly 
terror  at  his  throat,  choking  him.  Mixed  with  this  came 
also  unearthly,  wordless,  inhuman  liowlings,  as  of  a  wild 
beast  triumphing.  For  a  dozen  seconds  these  sounds  domi- 
nated the  night.  Then  upon  the  hill  they  seemed  to  sink 
into  a  moaning,  and  a  long,  low  cry,  like  the  whining  of  a 
beaten  dog.  Lights  gleamed  about  the  farm,  and  Ralph 
could  vaguely  see,  as  he  sprang  out  of  the  ravine,  along 
which  he  and  Winsome  had  walked,  dark  forms  flitting 
about  with  lanterns.  In  another  moment  he  was  out  on 
the  moor,  ranging  about  like  a  wild,  questing  hound,  seek- 
ing the  cause  of  the  sudden  and  hideous  outcry. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    HILL   GATE. 

There  was  no  merry  group  outside  Winsome's  little 
lattice  window  this  night,  as  she  sat  unclad  to  glimmering 
white  in  the  quiet  of  her  room.  In  her  heart  there  was 
that  strange,  quiet  thrill  of  expectancy — the  resolve  of  a 
maiden's  heart,  when  she  knows  without  willing  that  at 
last  the  flood-gates  of  her  being  must  surely  be  raised  and 
the  great  flood  take  her  to  the  sea.  She  did  not  face  the 
thought  of  what  she  would  say.  In  such  a  case  a  man 
plans  what  he  will  say,  and  once  in  three  times  he  says  it. 


192  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

But  a  woman  is  wiser.  She  knows  that  in  that  hour  it  will 
be  given  her  what  she  shall  sjDeak. 

"  1  shall  go  to  him,"  said  Winsome  to  herself ;  "  I  must, 
for  he  is  going  away,  and  he  has  need  of  me.  Can  I  let 
him  go  without  a  word  ?  " 

Though  Ealph  had  done  no  noble  action  in  her  sight 
or  within  her  ken,  yet  there  was  that  about  him  which  gave 
her  the  knowledge  that  she  would  be  infinitely  safe  with 
him  even  to  the  world's  end.  Winsome  wondered  how  she 
could  so  gladly  go,  when  she  would  not  have  so  much  as 
dreamed  of  stealing  out  at  night  to  meet  any  other,  though 
she  might  have  known  him  all  her  life.  She  did  not  know, 
often  as  she  had  heard  it  read,  that  "  perfect  love  casteth 
out  fear."  Then  she  said  to  herself  gently,  as  if  she  feared 
that  the  peeping  roses  at  the  window  might  hear,  "  Perhaps 
it  is  because  I  love  him."  Perhaps  it  was.  Happy  Win- 
some, to  have  found  it  out  so  young ! 

The  curtain  of  the  dark  drew  down.  Moist  airs  blew 
into  the  room,  warm  with  the  scent  of  the  flowers  of  a 
summer  night.  Honeysuckle  and  rose  blew  in,  and  quieted 
the  trembling  nerves  of  the  girl  going  to  meet  her  first  love. 

"  He  has  sair  need  o'  me  ! "  she  said,  lapsing  as  she  some- 
times did  into  her  grandmother's  speech.  "  He  will  stand 
before  me,"  she  said, "  and  look  so  pale  and  beautiful.  Then 
I  will  not  let  him  come  nearer — for  a  while — unless  it  is 
very  dark  and  I  am  afraid." 

She  glanced  out.  It  promised  to  be  very  dark,  and  a  tre- 
mour  came  over  her.  Then  she  clad  herself  in  haste,  drawing 
from  a  box  a  thin  shawl  of  faded  pale  blue  silk  with  a  broad 
crimson  edge,  which  she  drew  close  about  her  shoulders. 
The  band  of  red  lying  about  her  neck  forced  forward  her 
golden  tresses,  throwing  them  about  her  brow  so  that  they 
stood  out  round  her  face  in  a  changeful  aureole  of  fine-spun 
gold.     She  took  a  swift  glance  in  the  mirror,  holding  her 


THE   HILL   GATE.  193 

candle  in  her  hand.  Then  she  laughed  a  nervous  little 
laugh  all  to  herself.  How  foolish  of  her !  Of  course,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  see  her.  But  nevertheless 
she  put  out  her  light,  and  went  to  the  door  smiling.  She 
had  no  sense  of  doing  that  which  she  ought  not  to  do  ; 
for  she  had  been  accustomed  to  her  liberty  in  all  matters 
whatsoever,  ever  since  she  came  to  Craig  Konald,  and  in  the 
summer  weather  nothing  was  more  common  than  for  her  to 
walk  out  upon  the  moor  in  the  dewy  close  of  day.  She 
shut  the  door  quietly  behind  her,  and  set  her  foot  on  the 
silent  elastic  turf,  close  cropped  by  many  woolly  genera- 
tions. The  night  shut  down  behind  her  closer  than  the 
door.  The  western  wind  cooled  her  brain,  and  the  singing 
in  her  heart  rose  into  a  louder  altar-song.  A  woman  ever 
longs  to  be  giving  herself.  She  rejoices  in  sacrifice.  It  is 
a  pity  that  she  so  often  chooses  an  indifferently  worthy 
altar.  Yet  it  is  questionable  whether  her  own  pleasure  in 
the  sacrifice  is  any  the  less. 

At  the  gate  of  the  yard,  which  had  been  left  open  and 
hung  backward  perilously  upon  its  hinges,  she  paused. 

"  That  is  that  careless  girl,  Jess  !  "  she  said,  practical 
even  at  such  a  moment. 

And  she  was  right — it  was  Jess  who  had  so  left  it.  In- 
deed, had  she  been  a  moment  sooner,  she  might  have  seen 
Jess  flit  by,  taking  the  downward  road  which  led  through 
the  elder-trees  to  the  waterside.  As  it  was,  she  only  shut 
the  gate  carefully,  so  that  no  night-wandering  cattle  might 
disturb  the  repose  of  her  grandparents,  laid  carefully  asleep 
by  Meg  in  their  low-ceilinged  bedroom. 

The  whole  farm  breathed  from  its  walls  and  broad  yard 
spaces  the  peaceful  rise  and  fall  of  an  infant's  repose.  There 
was  no  sound  about  the  warm  and  friendly  place  save  the 
sleepy  c7i««wer  of  a  hen  on  the  hmils  of  the  peat-house,  just 
sufficiently  awake  to  be  conscious  of  her  own  comfort. 


194:  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

The  hill  road  was  both  stony  and  difficult,  but  Winsome's 
light  feet  went  along  it  easily  and  lightly.  On  not  a  single 
stone  did  she  stumble.  She  walked  so  gladsomely  that  she 
trod  on  the  air.  There  were  no  rocks  in  her  path  that  night. 
Behind  her  the  light  in  the  west  winked  once  and  went  out. 
Palpable  darkness  settled  about  her.  The  sigh  of  the  waste 
moorlands,  where  in  the  haggs  the  wild  fowl  were  nestling 
and  the  adders  slept,  came  down  over  the  well-pastured  braes 
to  her. 

Winsome  did  not  hasten.  Why  hasten,  when  at  the  end 
of  the  way  there  certainly  lies  the  sweet  beginning  of  all 
things.  Already  might  she  be  happy  in  the  possession  of 
certainties?  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  Ealph  would  not 
be  at  the  trysting-place.  That  a  messenger  might  fail  did 
not  once  cross  her  mind.  But  maidenly  tremours,  delicious 
in  their  uncertainty,  coursed  along  her  limbs  and  through 
all  her  being.  Could  any  one  have  seen,  there  was  a  large 
and  almost  exultant  happiness  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 
Her  lips  were  parted  a  little,  like  a  child  that  waits  on  tiptoe 
to  see  the  curtain  rise  on  some  wondrous  and  long-dreamed- 
of  spectacle. 

Soon  against  the  darker  sky  the  hill  dyke  stood  up,  look- 
ing in  the  gloom  massive  as  the  Picts'  Wall  of  long  ago.  It 
followed  irregularly  the  ridgy  dips  and  hollows  downward, 
till  it  ran  into  the  intenser  darkness  of  the  pines.  In  a  mo- 
ment, ere  yet  she  was  ready,  there  before  her  was  the  gate  of 
her  tryst.  She  paused,  affrighted  for  the  first  time.  She 
listened,  and  there  was  no  sound.  A  trembling  came  over 
her  and  an  uncertainty.     She  turned,  in  act  to  flee. 

But  out  of  the  dark  of  the  great  dyke  stepped  a  figure 
cloaked  from  head  to  heel,  and  while  Winsome  wavered, 
tingling  now  with  shame  and  fear,  in  an  instant  she  was 
enclosed  within  two  very  strong  arms,  that  received  her  as 
in  a  snare  a  bird  is  taken. 


THE  HILL   GATE.  195 

Suddenly  Winsome  felt  her  breath  shorten.  She  panted 
as  if  she  could  not  get  air,  like  the  bird  as  it  flutters  and 
palpitates. 

"  Oh,  I  ought  not  to  have  come !"  she  said,  "but  I  could 
not  help  it !  " 

There  was  no  word  in  answer,  only  a  closer  folding  of  the 
arms  that  cinctured  her.  In  the  west  the  dusk  was  ligliten- 
ing  and  the  eyelid  of  the  night  drew  slowly  and  grimly  up. 

When  for  the  first  time  she  looked  shyly  upward,  Win- 
some found  herself  in  the  arms  of  Agnew  Greatorix. 
Wrapped  in  his  great  military  cloak,  with  a  triumphant 
look  in  his  handsome  face,  he  smiled  down  upon  her. 

Great  Lord  of  Innocence  !  give  now  this  lamb  of  thine 
thy  help  ! 

The  leaping  soul  of  pure  disembodied  terror  stood  in 
Winsome's  eyes.  Fascinated  like  an  antelope  in  the  coils 
of  a  python  she  gazed,  her  eyes  dilating  and  contracting — 
the  world  whirling  about  her,  the  soul  of  her  bounding  and 
panting  to  burst  its  bars. 

"  Winsome,  my  darling  !  "  he  said,  "  you  have  come  to 
me.     You  are  mine  " — bending  his  face  to  hers. 

Not  yet  had  the  power  to  speak  or  to  resist  come  back 
to  her,  so  instant  and  terrible  was  her  surprise.  But  at  the 
first  touch  of  his  lips  upon  her  cheek  the  very  despair 
brought  back  to  her  tenfold  her  own  strength.  She  pushed 
against  him  with  her  hands,  straining  him  from  her  by  the 
rigid  tension  of  her  arms,  setting  her  face  far  from  his,  but 
she  was  still  unable  to  break  the  clasp  of  his  arms  about  her. 

"  Let  me  go !  let  me  go  ! "  she  cried,  in  a  hoarse  and 
labouring  whisper. 

"  Gently,  gently,  fair  and  softly,  my  birdie,"  said  Great- 
orix ;  "  surely  you  have  not  forgotten  that  you  sent  for  me 
to  meet  you  here.  Well,  I  am  here,  and  I  am  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  come  for  nothine: !  " 


196  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

The  very  impossibility  of  words  steeled  Winsome's  heart. 

"  /send  for  you  ! "  cried  Winsome ;  "  I  never  had  message 
or  word  with  you  in  my  life  to  give  you  a  right  to  touch  me 
with  your  little  finger.  Let  me  go,  and  this  instant,  Agnew 
Greatorix  !  " 

"  Winsome,  sweetest  girl,  it  pleases  you  to  jest.  Have  not 
I  your  own  letter  in  my  pocket  telling  me  where  to  meet 
you  ?  Did  you  not  write  it  9  I  am  not  angry.  You  can 
play  out  your  play  and  pretend  you  do  not  care  for  me  as 
much  as  you  like  ;  but  I  will  not  let  you  go.  I  have  loved 
you  too  long,  though  till  now  you  were  cruel  and  would  give 
me  no  hope.  So  when  I  got  your  letter  I  knew  it  was  love, 
after  all,  that  had  been  in  your  eyes  as  I  rode  away." 

"Listen,"  said  Winsome  eagerly;  "there  is  some  terrible 
mistake  ;  I  never  wrote  a  line  to  you " 

"  It  matters  not ;  it  was  to  me  that  your  letter  came, 
brought  by  a  messenger  to  the  castle  an  hour  ago.  So  here 
I  am,  and  here  you  are,  my  beauty,  and  we  shall  just  make 
the  best  of  it,  as  lovers  should  when  the  nights  are  short." 

He  closed  his  arms  about  her,  forcing  the  strength  out 
of  her  wrists  with  slow,  rude,  masculine  muscles.  A  numb- 
ness and  a  deadness  ran  through  her  limbs  as  he  compelled 
her  nearer  to  him.  Her  head  spun  round  with  the  fear  of 
fainting.  With  a  great  effort  she  forced  herself  back  a  step 
from  him,  and  just  as  she  felt  the  breath  of  his  mouth  upon 
hers  her  heart  made  way  through  her  lips. 

"  Ralph  !  Ralph !  Help  me — help !  Oh,  come  to  me ! " 
she  cried  in  her  extremity  of  terror  and  the  oncoming  rigour 
of  unconsciousness. 

The  next  moment  she  dropped  limp  and  senseless  into 
the  arms  of  Agnew  Greatorix.  For  a  long  moment  he  held 
her  up,  listening  to  the  echoes  of  that  great  cry,  wondering 
whether  it  would  wake  up  the  whole  world,  or  if,  indeed, 
there  were  none  to  answer  in  that  solitary  place. 


THE  HILL  GATE.  197 

But  only  the  wild  bird  wailed  like  a  lost  soul  too  bad  for 
heaven,  too  good  for  hell,  wandering  in  the  waste  forever. 

Agnew  Greatorix  laid  Winsome  down  on  the  heather, 
lifeless  and  still,  her  pure  white  face  resting  in  a  nest  of 
golden  curls,  the  red  band  of  her  mother's  Indian  shawl  be- 
hind all. 

But  as  the  insulter  stooped  to  take  his  will  of  her  lips, 
now  pale  and  defenceless,  something  that  had  been  crouch- 
ing beastlike  in  the  heather  for  an  hour,  tracking  and  tracing 
him  like  a  remorseless  crawling  horror,  suddenly  sprang  with 
a  voiceless  rush  upon  him  as  he  bent  over  Winsome's  pros- 
trate body — gripped  straight  at  his  throat  and  bore  him  back- 
ward bareheaded  to  the  ground. 

So  unexpected  was  the  assault  that,  strong  man  as  Great- 
orix was,  he  had  not  the  least  chance  of  resistance.  He 
reeled  at  the  sudden  constriction  of  his  throat  by  hands  that 
hardly  seemed  human,  so  wide  was  their  clutch,  so  terrible 
the  stringency  of  their  grasp.  He  struck  wildly  at  his  as- 
sailant, but,  lying  on  his  back  with  the  biting  and  strangling 
thing  above  him,  his  arms  only  met  on  one  another  in  vain 
blows.  He  felt  the  teeth  of  a  great  beast  meet  in  his  throat, 
and  in  the  sudden  agony  he  sent  abroad  the  mighty  roar  of 
a  man  in  the  grips  of  death  by  violence.  But  his  assailant 
was  silent,  save  for  a  fierce  whinnying  growl  as  of  a  wild 
beast  greedily  lapping  blood. 

It  was  this  terrible  outcry  ringing  across  the  hills  that 
brought  the  farm  steading  suddenly  awake,  and  sent  the 
lads  swarming  about  the  house  with  lanterns.  But  it  was 
Ralph  alone  who,  having  heard  the  first  cry  of  his  love  and 
listened  to  nothing  else,  ran  onward,  bending  low  with  a 
terrible  stitch  in  his  side  which  caught  his  breath  and  threw 
him  to  the  ground  almost  upon  the  white- wrapped  body  of 
his  love.  Hastily  he  knelt  beside  her  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  heart.     It  was  beating  surely  though  faintly. 


198  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

But  on  tlie  other  side,  against  the  gray  glimmer  of  the 
march  dyke,  he  could  see  the  twitchings  of  some  great  agony. 
At  intervals  there  was  the  ghastly,  half-human  growling  and 
the  sobbing  catch  of  some  one  striving  for  breath. 

A  light  shone  across  the  moor,  fitfully  wavering  as  the 
searcher  cast  its  rays  from  side  to  side.  Ralph  glanced  be- 
hind him  with  the  instinct  to  carry  his  love  away  to  a  place 
of  safety.  But  he  saw  the  face  of  Meg  Kissock,  with  slow 
Jock  Forrest  behind  her  carrying  a  lantern.  Meg  ran  to 
the  side  of  her  mistress. 

"  Wha's  dune  this  ?  "  she  demanded,  turning  fiercely  to 
Ralph.     «  Gin  ye " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it.  Bring  the  lantern  here 
quickly,"  he  said,  leaving  Winsome  in  the  hands  of  Meg. 
Jock  Forrest  brought  the  lantern  round,  and  there  on  the 
grass  was  Agnew  Greatorix,  with  daft  Jock  Gordon  above 
him,  his  sinewy  hands  gripping  his  neck  and  his  teeth  in 
his  throat. 

Ralph  pulled  Jock  Gordon  off  and  flung  him  upon  the 
heather,  where  Jock  Forrest  set  his  foot  upon  him,  and 
turned  the  light  of  the  lantern  upon  the  fierce  face  of  a 
maniac,  foam-flecked  and  blood-streaked.  Jock  still  growled 
and  gnashed  his  teeth,  and  struggled  in  sullen  fury  to  get  at 
his  fallen  foe.  With  his  hat  Ralph  brought  water  from  a 
deep  moss-hole  and  dashed  it  upon  the  face  of  Winsome. 
In  a  little  while,  she  began  to  sob  in  a  heartbroken  way. 
Meg  took  her  head  upon  her  knees,  and  soothed  her  mis- 
tress, murmuring  tendernesses.  Next  he  brought  water  to 
throw  over  the  face  and  neck  of  Greatorix,  which  Jock 
Gordon  in  his  fury  had  made  to  look  like  nothing  human. 

The  rest  might  wait.  It  was  Ralph's  first  care  to  get 
Winsome  home.  Kneeling  down  beside  her  he  soothed  her 
with  whispered  words,  till  the  j^iteous  sobbing  in  her  throat 
stilled  itself.     The  ploughman  was  at  this  moment  stolidly 


THE   HILL   GATE.  199 

producing  pieces  of  rope  from  his  pockets  and  tying  up 
Jock  Gordon's  hands  and  feet ;  but  after  his  first  attempts 
again  to  fly  at  Greatorix,  and  his  gasps  of  futile  wrath  when 
forced  into  the  soft  moss  of  the  moor  by  Jock  Forrest's 
foot,  he  had  not  offered  to  move. 

His  paroxysm  was  only  one  of  the  great  spasms  of  mad- 
ness which  sometimes  come  over  the  innocently  witless. 
He  had  heard  close  by  him  the  cries  of  Winsome  Charteris, 
whom  he  had  worshipped  for  years  almost  in  the  place  of 
the  God  whom  he  had  not  the  understanding  to  know.  The 
wonder  rather  was  that  he  did  not  kill  Greatorix  outright. 
Had  it  happened  a  few  steps  nearer  the  great  stone  dyke, 
there  is  little  doubt  but  that  Jock  Gordon  would  have  beat 
out  the  assailant's  brains  with  a  ragged  stone. 

Winsome  had  not  yet  awakened  enough  to  ask  how  all 
these  things  came  about.  She  could  only  cling  to  Meg,  and 
listen  to  Ealph  whispering  in  her  ear. 

"  I  can  go  home  now,"  she  said  earnestly. 

So  Ealph  and  Meg  helped  her  up,  Ralph  wrapping  her 
in  her  great  crimson-barred  shawl. 

Ealph  would  have  kissed  her,  but  Winsome,  standing 
unsteadily  clasping  Meg's  arm,  said  tenderly : 

"  Not  to-night.     I  am  not  able  to  bear  it." 

It  was  almost  midnight  when  Ealph  and  the  silent  Jock 
Forrest  got  Agnew  Greatorix  into  the  spring-cart  to  be  con- 
veyed to  Greatorix  Castle. 

He  lay  with  his  eyes  closed,  silent.  Ealph  took  Jock 
Gordon  to  the  manse  with  him,  determined  to  tell  the  whole 
to  Mr.  Welsh  if  necessary ;  but  if  it  were  not  necessary,  to  tell 
no  one  more  than  he  could  help,  in  order  to  shelter  Winsome 
from  misapprehension.  It  says  something  for  Ealph  that,  in 
the  turmoil  of  the  night  and  the  unavailing  questionings  of 
the  morning,  he  never  for  a  moment  thought  of  doubting 
his  love.     It  was  enough  for  him  that  in  the  de])ths  of 


200  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

agony  of  body  or  spirit  she  had  called  out  to  him.  All  the 
rest  would  be  explained  in  due  time,  and  he  could  wait. 
Moreover,  so  selfish  is  love,  that  he  had  never  once  thought 
of  Jess  Kissock  from  the  moment  that  his  love's  cry  had 
pealed  across  the  valley  of  the  elder-trees  and  the  plain  of 
the  water  meadows. 

When  he  brought  Jock  Gordon,  hardly  yet  humanly 
articulate,  into  the  kitchen  of  the  manse,  the  house  was 
still  asleep.  Then  Ealph  wakened  Manse  Bell,  who  slept 
above.  He  told  her  that  Jock  Gordon  had  taken  a  fit  upon 
the  moor,  that  he  had  found  him  ill,  and  brought  him  home. 
Next  he  went  up  to  the  minister's  room,  where  he  found  Mr. 
Welsh  reading  his  Bible.  He  did  not  know  that  the  min- 
ister had  watched  him  both  come  and  go  from  his  window, 
or  that  he  had  remained  all  night  in  prayer  for  the  lad, 
who,  he  misdoubted,  was  in  deep  waters. 

As  soon  as  Jock  Gordon  had  drunk  the  tea  and  partaken 
of  the  beef  ham  which  Manse  Bell  somewhat  grumblingly 
set  before  him,  he  said  : 

"  Noo,  I'll  awa'.  The  tykes'll  be  after  me,  nae  doot,  but 
it's  no  in  yin  o'  them  to  catch  Jock  Gordon  gin  yince  he 
gets  into  the  Dungeon  o'  Buchan." 

"  But  ye  maun  wait  on  the  minister  or  Maister  Peden. 
They'll  liae  muckle  to  ask  ye,  nae  doot ! "  said  Bell,  who 
yearned  for  news. 

"  Nae  doot,  nae  doot ! "  said  daft  Jock  Gordon,  "  an'  I  hae 
little  to  answer.  It's  no  for  me  to  tie  the  rape  roond  my  ain 
craig  [neck].  Na,  na,  time  aneu'  to  answer  when  I'm  afore 
the  sherra  at  Kirkcudbright  for  this  nicht's  wark." 

With  these  words  Jock  took  his  pilgrim  staff  and  de- 
parted for  parts  unknown.  As  he  said,  it  was  not  blood- 
hounds that  could  catch  Jock  Gordon  on  the  Ehinns  of 
Kells. 

In  the  mornino:  there  was  word  come  to  the  cot-house  of 


THE  STUDY  OF  THE  MANSE  OF  DULLARG.   201 

the  Kissocks  that  Mistress  Kissock  was  wanted  wp  at  the 
castle  to  nurse  a  gentleman  who  had  had  an  accident  when 
shooting.  Mistress  Kissock  was  unable  to  go  herself,  but 
her  daughter  Jess  went  instead  of  her,  having  had  some 
practice  in  nursing,  among  other  experiences  which  she  had 
gained  in  England.  It  was  reported  that  she  made  an  ex- 
cellent nurse. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    STUDY    OF   THE    MANSE   OF    DULLAEG. 

It  was  growing  slowly  dusk  again  when  Ralph  Peden 
returned  from  visiting  Craig  Ronald  along  the  shore  road 
to  the  Dullarg  and  its  manse.  He  walked  briskly,  as  one 
who  has  good  news.  Sometimes  he  whistled  to  himself — 
breaking  off  short  with  a  quick  smile  at  some  recollection. 
Once  he  stopped  and  laughed  aloud.  Then  he  threw  a 
stone  at  a  rook  which  eyed  him  superciliously  from  the  top 
of  a  turf  dyke.  He  made  a  bad  shot,  at  which  the  black 
critic  wiped  the  bare  butt  of  his  bill  upon  the  grass,  uttered 
a  hoarse  "  A-ha ! "  of  derision,  and  plunged  down  squatly 
among  the  dock-leaves  on  the  other  side. 

As  Ralph  turned  up  the  manse  loaning  to  the  bare  front 
door,  he  was  conscious  of  a  vague  uneasiness,  the  feeling  of 
a  man  who  returns  to  a  house  of  gloom  from  a  world  where 
all  things  have  been  full  of  sunshine.  It  was  not  the  same 
world  since  yesterday.  Even  he,  Ralph  Peden,  was  not  the 
same  man.  But  he  entered  the  house  with  that  innocent 
affectation  of  exceeding  ease  which  is  the  boy's  tribute  to 
his  own  inexperience.  He  went  up  the  stairs  through  the 
dark  lobby  and  entered  Allan  Welsh's  study.  The  minister 
was  sitting  with  his  back  to  the  window,  his  hands  clasped 


202  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

in  front  of  him,  and  his  great  domed  forehead  and  emaci- 
ated features  standing  out  against  the  orange  and  crimson 
pool  of  glory  where  the  sun  had  gone  down. 

Ralph  ostentatiously  clattered  down  his  armful  of  books 
on  the  table.  The  minister  did  not  speak  at  first,  and  Ealpli 
began  his  explanation. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  hesitating  and  blushing  under 
the  keen  eyes  of  his  father's  friend,  "  I  had  no  idea  I 
should  have  been  detained,  but  the  truth  is " 

"  I  ken  what  the  truth  is,"  said  Allan  Welsh,  quietly. 
"  Sit  down,  Ralph  Peden.    I  have  somewhat  to  say  to  you." 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  the  young  man's  veins,  to  which 
succeeded  a  thrill  of  indignation.  Was  it  possible  that  he 
was  about  to  reproach  him,  as  a  student  in  trials  for  the  min- 
istry of  the  Marrow  kirk,  with  having  behaved  in  any  way 
unbecoming  of  an  aspirant  to  that  high  office,  or  left  un- 
done anything  expected  of  him  as  his  father's  son  ? 

The  minister  was  long  in  speaking.  Against  the  orange 
light  of  evening  which  barred  the  window,  his  face  could 
not  be  seen,  but  Ralph  had  the  feeling  that  his  eyes,  unseen 
themselves,  were  reading  into  his  very  soul.  He  sat  down 
and  clenched  his  hands  under  the  table, 

"  I  was  at  the  Bridge  of  Grannoch  this  day,"  began  the 
minister  at  last.  "  I  was  on  my  way  to  visit  a  parishioner, 
but  I  do  not  conceal  from  you  that  I  also  made  it  my  busi- 
ness to  observe  your  walk  and  conversation." 

"  By  what  right  do  you  so  speak  to  me?"  began  Ralph, 
the  hotter  blood  of  his  mother  rising  within  him. 

"  By  the  right  given  to  me  by  your  father  to  study  your 
heart  and  to  find  out  whether  indeed  it  is  seeking  to  walk 
in  the  more  perfect  way.  By  my  love  and  regard  for  you, 
I  hope  I  may  also  say." 

Tlie  minister  paused,  as  if  to  gather  strength  for  what  he 
had  yet  to  say.     He  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and 


THE  STUDY  OF  THE  MANSE  OF  DULLARG.   203 

Ealph  did  not  see  that  his  frail  figure  was  shaken  with  some 
emotion  too  strong  for  his  physical  powers,  only  kept  in 
check  by  the  keen  and  indomitable  will  within. 

"  Ealph,  my  lad,"  Allan  Welsh  continued,  "  do  not 
think  that  I  have  not  foreseen  this ;  and  had  your  father 
written  to  inform  me  of  his  intention  to  send  you  to  me,  I 
should  have  urged  him  to  cause  you  to  abide  in  your  own 
city.  What  I  feared  in  thought  is  in  act  come  to  pass.  I 
saw  it  in  your  eyes  yestreen." 

Ralph's  eyes  spoke  an  indignant  query. 

"  Ralph  Peden,"  said  the  minister,  "  since  I  came  here, 
eighteen  years  ago,  not  a  mouse  has  crept  out  of  Craig  Ron- 
ald but  I  have  made  it  my  business  to  know  it.  I  am  no 
spy,  and  yet  I  need  not  to  be  told  what  haj^pened  yesterday 
or  to-day." 

"  Then,  sir,  you  know  that  I  have  no  need  to  be 
ashamed." 

"  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,  Ralph,  which  I  desire  to 
say  by  no  means  in  anger.  But  first  let  me  say  this  :  It  is 
impossible  that  you  can  ever  be  more  to  Winifred  Charteris 
than  you  are  to-day." 

"  That  is  likely  enough,  sir,  but  I  would  like  to  know 
why  in  that  case  I  am  called  in  question." 

"  Because  I  have  been,  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  where 
you  are  to-day,  Ralph  Peden.  I — even  I — have  seen  eyes  blue 
as  those  of  Winsome  Charteris  kindle  with  pleasure  at  my 
approach.  Yes,  I  have  known  it.  And  I  have  also  seen  the 
lids  lie  white  and  still  upon  these  eyes,  and  I  am  here  to 
warn  you  from  the  primrose  way  ;  and  also,  if  need  be,  to 
forbid  you  to  walk  therein." 

His  voice  took  a  sterner  tone  with  the  last  words. 

Ralph  bowed  his  head  on  the  table  and  listened  ;  but 
there  was  no  feeling  save  resentment  and  resistance  in  his 
heart. 


204  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

The  minister  went  on  in  a  level,  unemotional  tone,  like 
one  telling  a  tale  of  long  ago,  of  which  the  issues  and  even 
the  interests  are  dead  and  gone. 

"  I  do  not  look  now  like  a  man  on  whom  the  eye  of 
woman  could  ever  rest  with  the  abandonment  of  love.  Yet 
I,  Allan  "Welsh,  have  seen  '  the  love  that  casteth  out  fear.'  " 

After  a  pause  the  high,  expressionless  voice  took  up  the 
tale. 

"  Many  years  ago  there  were  two  students,  poor  in  money 
but  rich  in  their  mutual  love.  They  were  closer  in  affection 
than  twin  brothers.  The  elder  was  betrothed  to  be  married 
to  a  beautiful  girl  in  the  country ;  so  he  took  down  his 
friend  with  him  to  the  village  where  the  maid  dwelt  to  stand 
by  his  side  and  look  upon  the  joy  of  the  bridegroom.  He 
saw  the  trysted  (betrothed)  of  his  friend.  He  and  she 
looked  into  one  another's  eyes  and  were  drawn  together  as 
by  a  power  beyond  them.  The  elder  was  summoned  sud- 
denly back  to  the  city,  and  for  a  week  he,  all  unthinking, 
left  the  friends  of  his  love  together  glad  that  they  should 
know  one  another  better.  They  walked  together.  They 
spoke  of  many  things,  ever  returning  back  to  speak  of  them- 
selves. One  day  they  held  a  book  together  till  they  heard 
their  hearts  beat  audibly,  and  in  the  book  read  no  more 
that  day. 

"Upon  the  friend's  return  he  found  only  an  empty  house 
and  distracted  parents.  Bride  and  brother  had  fled.  Word 
came  that  they  had  been  joined  by  old  Joseph  Paisley,  the 
Gretna  Green  '  welder,'  without  blessing  of  minister  or  kirk. 
Then  they  hid  themselves  in  a  little  Cumbrian  village,  where 
for  six  years  the  unfaithful  friend  wrought  for  his  wife — for 
so  he  deemed  her — till  in  the  late  bitterness  of  bringing  forth 
she  died,  that  was  the  fairest  of  women  and  the  unhappiest." 

The  minister  ceased.  Outside  the  rain  had  come  on  in 
broad  single  drops,  laying  the  dust  on  the  road.     Ralph 


THE  STUDY  OF  THE  MANSE  OP  DULLARG.   205 

could  hear  it  pattering  on  the  bi'oad  leaves  of  the  plane-tree 
outside  the  window.  He  did  not  like  to  hear  it.  It  sounded 
like  a  woman's  tears. 

But  he  could  not  understand  how  all  this  bore  on  his 
case.  He  was  silenced  and  awed,  but  it  was  with  the  sight 
of  a  soul  of  a  man  of  years  and  approved  sanctity  in  deep 
apparent  waters  of  sorrow. 

The  minister  lifted  his  head  and  listened.  In  the  an- 
cient woodwork  of  the  manse,  somewhere  in  the  crumbling 
wainscoting,  the  little  boring  creature  called  a  death-watch 
ticked  like  the  ticking  of  an  old  verge  watch.  Mr.  Welsh 
broke  oS  with  a  sudden  causeless  anger  very  appalling  in 
one  so  sage  and  sober  in  demeanour. 

"  There's  that  beast  again  !  "  he  said  ;  "  often  have  I 
thought  it  was  ticking  in  my  head.  I  have  heard  it  ever 
since  the  night  she  died " 

"  I  wonder  at  a  man  like  you,"  said  Ralph,  "  with  your 
wisdom  and  Christian  standing,  caring  for  a  worm " 

"  You're  a  very  young  man,  and  when  you  are  older 
maybe  you'll  wonder  at  a  deal  fewer  things,"  answered  the 
minister  with  a  kind  of  excited  truculence  very  foreign  to 
his  habit,  "  for  I  myself  am  a  worm  and  no  man,"  he  added 
dreamily.     "And  often  I  tried  to  kill  the  beast.     Ye  see 

thae  marks "  he  broke  ofE  again — "  I  bored  for  it  till 

the  boards  are  a  honeycomb,  but  the  thing  aye  ticks  on." 

"  But,  Mr.  Welsh,"  said  Ealph  eagerly,  with  some  sym- 
pathy in  his  voice,  "why  should  you  trouble  yourself  about 
this  story  now — or  I,  for  the  matter  of  that  ?  I  can  under- 
stand that  Winsome  Charteris  has  somehow  to  do  with  it, 
and  that  the  knowledge  has  come  to  you  in  the  course  of 
your  duty ;  but  even  if,  at  any  future  time.  Winsome  Char- 
teris were  aught  to  me  or  1  to  her — the  which  I  have  at  pres- 
ent only  too  little  hope  of — her  forbears,  bo  they  whomso- 
ever they  might,  were  no  more  to  me  than  Julius  Ca'sar.  I 
14 


20G  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

have  seen  her  and  looked  into  her  eyes.     What  needs  she  of 
ancestors  that  is  kin  to  the  angels  ?  " 

Something  like  pity  came  into  the  minister's  stern  eyes 
as  he  listened  to  the  lad.  Once  he  had  sjooken  just  such 
wild,  heart-eager  words. 

"  I  will  answer  you  in  a  sentence,"  he  said.  "  I  that 
speak  with  you  am  the  cause.  I  am  he  that  has  preached 
law  and  the  gosi^el — for  twenty  years  covering  my  sin  with 
the  Pharisee's  strictness  of  observance.  I  am  he  that  was 
false  friend  but  never  false  lover — that  married  without  kirk 
or  blessing.  I  am  the  man  that  clasped  a  dead  woman's 
hand  Avhom  I  never  owned  as  wife,  and  watched  afar  off  the 
babe  that  I  never  dared  to  call  mine  own.  I  am  the  father 
of  Winifred  Charteris,  coward  before  man,  castaway  before 
God.  Of  my  sin  two  know  besides  my  Maker — the  father 
tliat  begot  you,  whose  false  friend  I  was  in  the  days  that 
wore,  and  Walter  Skirving,  the  father  of  the  first  Winifred 
whose  eyes  this  hand  closed  under  the  Peacock  tree  at 
Crossthwaite." 

The  broad  drops  fell  on  the  window-panes  in  splashes, 
and  the  thunder  rain  drummed  on  the  roof. 

The  minister  rose  and  went  out,  leaving  Ralph  Peden  sit- 
ting in  the  dark  with  the  universe  in  ruins  about  him.  The 
universe  is  fragile  at  twenty-one. 

And  overhead  the  great  drops  fell  from  the  brooding 
thunder-clouds,  and  in  the  wainscoting  of  Allan  Welsh's 
study  the  death-watch  ticked. 


OUTCAST   AND  ALIEN.  207 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

OUTCAST   AND   ALIEN    FROM   THE    COMMONWEALTH. 

"  MoEEOVER,"  said  the  minister — coming  in  an  hour 
afterwards  to  take  up  the  interrupted  discussion — "  the 
kirk  of  the  Marrow  overrides  all  considerations  of  affec- 
tion or  self-interest.  If  you  are  to  enter  the  Marrow  kirk, 
you  must  live  for  the  Marrow,  and  fight  for  the  Marrow, 
and,  above  all,  you  must  wed  for  the  Marrow " 

"  As  you  did,  no  doubt,"  said  Ralph,  somewhat  ungen- 
erously. 

Ralph  had  remained  sitting  in  the  study  where  the 
minister  had  left  him. 

"  No,  for  myself,"  said  the  minister,  with  a  certain  firm- 
ness and  high  civility,  which  made  the  young  man  ashamed 
of  himself,  "  I  am  no  true  son  of  the  Marrow.  I  have  in- 
deed served  the  Marrow  kirk  in  her  true  and  only  protest- 
ing section  for  twenty-five  years ;  but  I  am  only  kept  in  my 
position  by  the  good  grace  of  two  men — of  your  father  and 
of  Walter  Skirving.  And  do  not  think  that  they  keep  their 
mouths  sealed  by  any  love  for  me.  Were  there  only  my 
own  life  and  good  name  to  consider,  they  would  speak  in- 
stantly, and  I  should  be  deposed,  without  cavil  or  word 
spoken  in  my  own  defence.  Nay,  by  what  I  have  already 
spoken,  I  have  put  myself  in  your  hands.  All  that  you 
have  to  do  is  simply  to  rise  in  your  place  on  the  Sabbath 
morn  and  tell  the  congregation  what  I  have  told  you — that 
the  minister  of  the  Marrow  kirk  in  Dullarg  is  a  man  re- 
buking sin  when  his  own  hearthstone  is  unclean — a  man 
irregularly  espoused,  who  wrongfully  christened  his  own 
unacknowledged  child." 

Allan  Welsh  laid  his  brow  against  the  hard  wood  of  the 
study  table  as  though  to  cool  it. 


208  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  ISTo,"  he  continued,  looking  Ealph  in  the  face,  as  the 
midnight  hummed  around,  and  the  bats  softly  fluttered 
like  gigantic  moths  outside,  "  your  father  is  silent  for  the 
sake  of  the  good  name  of  the  Marrow  kirk ;  but  this  thing 
shall  never  be  said  of  his  own  son,  and  the  only  hope  of  the 
Marrow  kirk — the  lad  she  has  colleged  and  watched  and 
prayed  for — not  only  the  two  congregations  of  Edinburgh 
and  the  Dullarg  contributing  yearly  out  of  their  smallest 
pittances,  but  the  faithful  single  members  and  adherents 
throughout  broad  Scotland — many  of  whom  are  coming  to 
Edinburgh  at  the  time  of  our  oncoming  synod,  in  order  to 
be  present  at  it,  and  at  the  communion  Avhen  I  shall  assist 
your  father." 

"  But  why  can  not  I  marry  Winsome  Charteris,  even 
though  she  be  your  daughter,  as  you  say?"  asked  Ealph. 

"  0  young  man,"  said  the  minister,  "  ken  ye  so  little 
about  the  kirk  o'  the  jMarrow,  and  the  respect  for  her  that 
your  father  and  myself  cherish  for  the  office  of  her  ministry, 
that  ye  think  that  we  could  permit  a  probationer,  on  trials 
for  the  highest  office  within  her  gift,  to  connect  himself  by 
tie,  bond,  or  engagement  with  the  daughter  of  an  unblest 
marriage  ?  That  would  be  winking  at  a  new  sin,  darker  even 
than  the  old."  Then,  with  a  burst  of  passion — "  I,  even  I, 
"would  sooner  denounce  it  myself,  though  it  cost  me  my 
position  !  For  twenty  years  I  have  known  that  before  God 
I  was  condemned.  You  have  seen  me  praying  — yes,  often 
— all  night,  but  never  did  you  or  mortal  man  hear  me  pray- 
ing for  myself." 

Ealph  held  out  his  hand  in  sympathy.  Mr.  Welsh  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it.     lie  went  on  : 

"  I  was  praying  for  this  poor  simple  folk — the  elect  of 
God — their  minister  alone  a  castaway,  set  beyond  the 
mercy  of  God  by  his  own  act.  Have  I  not  prayed  that  they 
might   never  be  put  to  shame  by  the  knowledge  of  the 


OUTCAST  AND  ALIEN.  209 

minister's  sin  being  made  a  mockery  in  the  courts  of  Belial? 
And  have  I  not  been  answered  ?  " 

Here  we  fear  that  Mr.  Welsh  referred  to  the  ecclesias- 
tical surroundings  of  the  Eeverend  Erasmus  Teends. 

"  And  I  prayed  for  my  poor  lassie,  and  for  you,  when  I 
saw  you  both  in  the  floods  of  deep  waters.  I  have  wept  great 
and  bitter  tears  for  you  twain.  But  I  am  to  receive  my 
answer  and  reward,  for  this  night  you  shall  give  me  your 
word  that  never  more  will  you  pass  word  of  love  to  "Win- 
some, the  daughter  of  Allan  Charteris  Welsh.  For  the  sake 
of  the  Marrow  kirk  and  the  unstained  truth  delivered  to 
the  martyrs,  and  upheld  by  your  father  one  great  day,  you 
will  do  this  thing." 

"  Mr.  Welsh,"  said  the  young  man  calmly,  "  I  cannot, 
even  though  I  be  willing,  do  this  thing.  My  heart  and  life, 
my  honour  and  word,  are  too  deeply  engaged  for  me  to  go 
back.  At  whatever  cost  to  myself,  I  must  keep  tryst  and 
pledge  with  the  girl  who  has  trusted  me,  and  who  for  me 
has  to-night  suffered  things  whose  depths  of  pain  and  shame 
I  know  not  yet." 

"  Then,"  said  the  minister  sternly,  "  you  and  I  must  part. 
My  duty  is  done.  If  you  refuse  my  appeal,  you  are  no  true 
son  of  the  Marrow  kirk,  and  no  candidate  that  I  can  recom- 
mend for  her  ministry.  Moreover,  to  keep  you  longer  in 
my  house  and  at  my  board  were  tacitly  to  encourage  you  in 
your  folly." 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  replied  Ralph,  unshaken  and  un- 
daunted, "  that  I  may  be  as  unfit  as  you  say  for  the  oflfice 
and  ministry  of  the  Marrow  kirk.  It  is,  indeed,  only  as  I 
have  thought  for  a  long  season.  If  that  be  so,  then  it  were 
well  that  I  should  withdraw,  and  leave  the  place  for  some 
one  worthier." 

"  I  wonder  to  hear  ye,  Ralph  Peden,  your  father's  son," 
said  the  minister,  "  you  that  have  been  colleged  by  the  shil- 


210  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

lings  and  sixpences  of  the  poor  hill  folk.  How  will  ye  do 
with  these?" 

"  I  will  pay  them  back,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Hear  ye,  man  :  can  ye  pay  back  the  love  that  hained 
and  saved  to  send  them  to  Edinburgh  ?  Can  ye  pay  back 
the  prayers  and  expectations  that  followed  ye  from  class  to 
class,  rejoicing  in  your  success,  praying  that  the  salt  of 
holiness  might  be  put  for  you  into  the  fountains  of  earthly 
learning?  Pay  back,  Ralph  Peden? — I  wonder  sair  that  ye 
are  not  shamed  ! " 

Indeed,  Ralph  was  in  a  sorrowful  quandary.  He  knew 
that  it  was  all  true,  and  he  saw  no  way  out  of  it  without 
pain  and  grief  to  some.  But  the  thought  of  Winsome's  cry 
came  to  him,  heard  in  the  lonesome  night.  That  appeal 
had  severed  him  in  a  moment  from  all  his  old  life.  He 
could  not,  though  he  were  to  lose  heaven  and  earth,  leave 
her  now  to  reproach  and  ignominy.  She  had  claimed  him 
only  in  her  utter  need,  and  he  would  stand  good,  lover  and 
friend  to  be  counted  on,  till  the  world  should  end. 

"  It  is  true  what  you  say,"  said  Ralph ;  "  I  mourn  for  it 
every  word,  but  I  cannot  and  will  not  submit  my  conscience 
and  my  heart  to  the  keeping  even  of  the  Marrow  kirk." 

"  Ye  should  have  thought  on  that  sooner,"  interjected 
the  minister  grimly. 

"  God  gave  me  my  affections  as  a  sacred  trust.  This 
also  is  part  of  my  religion.  And  I  will  not,  I  cannot  in 
any  wise  give  up  hope  of  winning  this  girl  whom  I  love, 
and  whom  you  above  all  others  ought  surely  to  love." 

"  Then,"  said  the  minister,  rising  solemnly  with  his  hand 
outstretched  as  when  he  pronounced  the  benediction,  "  I, 
Allan  Welsh,  who  love  you  as  my  son,  and  who  love  my 
daughter  more  than  ten  daughters  who  bear  no  reproach, 
tell  you,  Ralph  Peden,  that  I  can  no  longer  company  Av4th 
you.     Heoceforth  I  count  you   as  a  rebel  and  a  stranger. 


JOCK   GORDON    TAKES  A   IIAKD.  211 

More  than  self,  more  than  life,  more  than  child  or  wife,  I, 
sinner  as  I  am,  love  the  honour  and  discipline  of  the  kirk 
of  the  Marrow.     Henceforth  you  and  I  are  strangers." 

The  words  fired  the  young  man.  He  took  up  his  hat, 
which  had  fallen  upon  the  floor. 

"  H  that  be  so,  the  sooner  that  this  house  is  rid  of  the 
presence  of  a  stranger  and  a  rebel  the  better  for  it,  and  the 
liappier  for  you.  I  thank  you  for  all  the  kindness  you  have 
shown  to  me,  and  I  bid  you,  with  true  affection  and  respect, 
farewell ! " 

So,  without  waiting  even  to  go  up-stairs  for  anything  be- 
longing to  him,  and  with  no  further  word  on  either  side, 
Ealph  Peden  stepped  into  the  clear,  sobering  midnight, 
the  chill  air  meeting  him  like  a  wall.  The  stars  had  come 
out  and  were  shining  frosty-clear,  though  it  was  June. 

And  as  soon  as  he  was  gone  out  the  minister  fell  on 
his  knees,  and  so  continued  all  the  night  praying  with  his 
face  to  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

JOCK    GORDON   TAKES   A    HAND. 

Whatever  is  too  precious,  too  tender,  too  good,  too 
evil,  too  shameful,  too  beautiful  for  the  day,  happens  in  the 
night.  Night  is  the  bath  of  life,  the  anodyne  of  heart- 
aches, the  silencer  of  passions,  the  breeder  of  them  too, 
the  teacher  of  those  who  would  learn,  the  cloak  that 
shuts  a  man  in  with  his  own  soul.  The  seeds  of  great 
deeds  and  great  crimes  are  alike  sown  in  the  night.  The 
good  Samaritan  doeth  his  good  by  stealth  ;  the  wicked  one 
cometh  and  sowetli  his  tares  among  the  wheat.  The  lover 
and    the  lustful    person,  the   thief  and    the  thinker,  the 


212  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

preacher  and  the  poacher,  are  abroad  in  the  night.  In 
factories  and  mills,  beside  the  ceaseless  whirl  of  machinery, 
stand  men  to  whom  day  is  night  and  night  day.  In  cities 
the  guardians  of  the  midnight  go  hither  and  thither  with 
measured  step  under  the  drizzling  rain.  No  man  cares  that 
they  are  lonely  and  cold.  Yet,  nevertheless,  both  light  and 
darkness,  night  and  day,  are  but  the  accidents  of  a  little 
time.  It  is  twilight — the  twilight  of  the  morning  and  of 
the  gods — that  is  the  true  normal  of  the  universe.  Night 
is  but  the  shadow  of  the  earth,  light  the  nearness  of  the 
central  sun.  But  when  the  soul  of  man  goeth  its  way  be- 
yond the  confines  of  the  little  multiplied  circles  of  the  sys- 
tem of  the  sun,  it  passes  at  once  into  the  dim  twilight  of 
space,  where  for  myriads  of  myriad  miles  there  is  only  the 
grey  of  the  earliest  God's  gloaming,  which  existed  just  so  or 
ever  the  world  was,  and  shall  be  when  the  world  is  not- 
Light  and  dark,  day  and  night,  are  but  as  the  lights  of  a 
station  at  which  the  train  does  not  stop.  They  whisk  past, 
gleaming  bright  but  for  a  moment,  and  the  world  which 
came  out  of  great  twilight  plunges  again  into  it,  perhaps 
to  be  remade  and  reillumined  on  some  eternal  morning. 

It  is  good  for  man,  then,  to  be  oftentimes  abroad  in  the 
early  twilight  of  the  morning.  It  is  primeval — instinct 
with  possibilities  of  thought  and  action.  Then,  if  at  all,  he 
will  get  a  glimpse  into  his  soul  that  may  hap  to  startle  him. 
Judgment  and  the  face  of  God  justly  angry  seem  more 
likely  and  actual  things  than  they  do  in  the  city  when  the 
pavements  are  thronged  and  at  every  turning  some  one  is 
ready  for  good  or  evil  to  hail  you  "  fellow." 

So  Ralph  Peden  stepped  out  into  the  night,  the  sense  of 
injustice  quick  upon  him.  He  had  no  plans,  but  only  the 
quick  resentments  of  youth,  and  the  resolve  to  stay  no  longer 
in  a  house  where  he  was  an  unwelcome  guest.  He  felt  that 
he  had  been  offered  the  choice  between  his  career  and  un- 


JOCK  GORDON  TAKES  A  HAND.        213 

faithfulness  to  the  girl  who  had  trusted  him.  This  was 
not  quite  so ;  but,  with  the  characteristic  one-sidedness  of 
youth,  that  was  the  way  that  he  put  the  case  to  himself. 

It  was  the  water-shed  of  day  and  night  when  Ralph  set 
out  from  the  Dullarg  manse.  He  had  had  no  supper,  but 
he  was  not  hungry.  Naturally  his  feet  carried  him  in  the 
direction  of  the  bridge,  whither  he  had  gone  on  the  previous 
evening  and  where  amid  an  eager  press  of  thoughts  he  had 
waited  and  watched  for  his  love.  When  he  got  there  he  sat 
down  on  the  parapet  and  looked  to  the  north.  He  saw  the 
wimples  of  the  lazy  Grannoch  Lane  winding  dimly  through 
their  white  lily  beds.  In  the  starlight  the  white  cups  glim- 
mered faintly  up  from  their  dark  beds  of  leaves.  Under- 
neath the  bridge  there  was  only  a  velvety  blackness  of 
shadow. 

What  to  do  was  now  the  question.  Plainly  he  must  at 
once  go  to  Edinburgh  and  see  his  father.  That  was  the 
first  certainty.  But  still  more  certainly  he  must  first  see 
Winsome,  and,  in  the  light  of  the  morning  and  of  her  eyes, 
solve  for  her  all  the  questions  which  must  have  sorely  puz- 
zled her,  at  the  same  time  resolving  his  own  perplexities. 
Then  he  must  bid  her  adieu.  Eight  proudly  would  he  go  to 
carve  out  a  way  for  her.  He  had  no  doubts  that  the  mas- 
tership in  his  old  school,  which  Dr.  Abel  had  offered  him  a 
month  ago,  would  still  be  at  his  disposal.  That  Winsome 
loved  him  truly  he  did  not  doubt.  He  gave  no  thought  to 
that.  The  cry  across  the  gulf  of  air  from  the  high  march 
dyke  by  the  pines  on  the  hill,  echoing  down  to  the  bridge 
in  the  valley  of  the  Grannoch,  had  settled  that  question 
once  for  all. 

As  he  sat  on  the  bridge  and  listened  to  the  ripple  of  the 
Grannoch  lane  running  lightly  over  the  shallows  at  the 
Stepping  Stones,  and  to  the  more  distant  roar  of  the  falls 
of  the  Black  Water,  he  shaped  out  a  course  for  himself  and 


214  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

for  Winsome.  He  had  ceased  to  call  her  Winsome  Charte- 
ris,  "  She,"  he  called  her — the  only  she.  When  next  he 
gave  her  a  surname  he  would  call  her  Winsome  Peden.  In- 
stinctively he  took  off  his  hat  at  the  thought,  as  though  he 
had  opened  a  door  and  found  himself  light-heartedly  and 
suddenly  in  a  church. 

Sitting  thus  on  the  bridge  alone  and  listening  to  the 
ocean-like  lapse  of  his  own  thoughts,  as  they  cast  up  the 
future  and  the  past  like  pebbles  at  his  feet,  he  had  no  more 
thought  of  fear  for  his  future  than  he  had  that  first  day  at 
Craig  Ronald,  under  the  whin-bushes  on  the  ridge  behind 
him,  on  that  day  of  the  blanket-washing  so  many  ages  ago. 
He  was  so  full  of  love  that  it  had  cast  out  fear. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  gloom  beneath  the  bridge  upon 
which  he  was  sitting,  dangling  his  legs,  there  came  a 
voice. 

"  Maister  Ealph  Peden,  Maister  Ralph  Peden." 

Ralph  nearly  fell  backward  over  the  parapet  in  his  as- 
tonishment. 

"Who  is  that  calling  on  me?"  he  asked  in  wonder. 

"  Wha  but  juist  daft  Jock  Gordon  ?  The  hangman  haesna 
catchit  him  yet,  an'  thank  ye  kindly — na,  nor  ever  wull." 

"  Where  are  you,  Jock,  man  ?  "  said  Ralph,  willing  to 
humour  the  instrument  of  God. 

"  The  noo  Fm  on  the  shelf  o'  the  brig ;  a  braw  bed  it 
maks,  if  it  is  raithcr  narrow.  But  graund  practice  for  the 
narrow  bed  that  I'll  get  i'  the  Dullarg  kirkyaird  some  day 
or  lang,  unless  they  catch  puir  Jock  and  hang  him.  Na, 
na,"  said  Jock  with  a  canty  kind  of  content  in  his  voice, 
"  they  may  luik  a  lang  while  or  they  wad  think  o'  luikin'  for 
him  atween  the  foundation  an'  the  spring  o'  the  airch.  An' 
that's  but  yin  o'  Jock  Gordon's  hidie  holes,  an'  a  braw  an'  guid 
yin  it  is.  I  hae  seen  this  bit  hole  as  fu'  o'  pairtricks  and 
pheasants  as  it  could  baud,  an'  a'  the  keepers  and  their  dowgs 


JOCK  GORDON   TAKES  A   HAND.  215 

smelliu',  and  them  could  na  find  it  oot.  Na,  the  water  taks 
awa'  the  smell." 

"Are  ye  not  coming  out,  Jock  ?  "  queried  Ralph. 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  said  Jock  briefly.  "  What  do  ye 
want  wi'  Jock  ?  " 

"  Come  up,"  said  Ralph ;  "  I  shall  tell  you  how  ye  can 
help  me.     Ye  ken  that  I  helped  you  yestreen." 

"  Weel,  ye  gied  me  an  unco  rive  afE  that  blackguard  frae 
tlie  Castle,  gin  that  was  a  guid  turn,  I  ken  na  !  " 

So  grumbling,  Jock  Gordon  came  to  the  upper  level  of 
the  bridge,  paddling  unconcernedly  with  his  bare  feet  and 
ragged  trousers  through  the  shallows. 

"  Weel,  na — hae  ye  a  snuff  aboot  ye,  noo  that  I  am  here? 
No — dear  sirce,  what  wad  I  no  do  for  a  snuff  ?  " 

"  Jock,"  said  Ralph,  "  I  shall  have  to  walk  to  Edinburgh. 
I  must  start  in  the  morning." 

"  Ye'll  hae  plenty  o'  sillar,  nae  doot  ?  "  said  Jock  prac- 
tically. 

Ralph  felt  his  pockets.  In  that  wild  place  it  was  not  his 
custom  to  carry  money,  and  he  had  not  even  the  few  shil- 
lings which  were  in  his  purse  at  the  manse. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  no  money 
with  me." 

"  Then  ye'll  be  better  o'  Jock  Gordon  wi'  ye  ?  "  said  Jock 
promptly. 

Ralph  saw  that  it  would  not  do  to  be  saddled  with  Jock 
in  the  city,  where  it  might  be  necessary  for  him  to  begin  a 
new  career  immediately ;  so  he  gently  broke  the  difficulties 
to  Jock. 

"  Deed  na,  ye  needna  be  feared  ;  Jock  wadna  set  a  fit  in 
a  toon.  There's  ower  mony  nesty  imps  o'  boys,  rinniu'  an' 
cloddin'  stanes  at  puir  Jock,  forby  caa'in'  him  names.  Syne 
he  loses  his  temper  wi'  them  an'  then  he  micht  do  them  an 
injury  an'  get  himsel'  intil  the  gaol.     Xa,  na,  when  Jock 


216  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

sees  the  blue  smoor  o'  Auld  Reeky  gaun  up  into  the  Hf t  he'll 
turn  an'  gae  hame." 

"  Well,  Jock,"  said  Ralph,  "  it  behooves  me  to  see  Mis- 
tress Winsome  before  I  go.  Ye  ken  she  and  I  are  good 
friends." 

"  So's  you  an'  me  ;  but  had  puir  Jock  no  cried  up  till  ye, 
ye  wad  hae  gane  ail"  to  Embra  withoot  as  muckle  as  '  Fair- 
guide'en  to  ye,  Jock.'  " 

"Ah,  Jock, but  then  you  must  know  that  Mistress  Char- 
teris  and  I  are  lad  and  lass,"  he  continued,  putting  the  case 
as  he  conceived  in  a  form  that  would  suit  it  to  Jock's  un- 
derstanding. 

"  Lad  an'  lass  !  What  did  ye  think  Jock  took  ye  for  ? 
This  is  nane  o'  yer  Castle  tricks,"  he  said ;  "  mind,  Jock  can 
bite  yet !  " 

Ralph  laughed. 

"  No,  no,  Jock,  you  need  not  be  feared.  She  and  I  are 
going  to  be  married  some  day  before  very  long  " — a  state- 
ment made  entirely  without  authority. 

"  Hoot,  hoot !  "  said  Jock,  "  wull  nocht  ser'  3'e  but  that 
ava — a  sensible  man  like  you  ?  In  that  case  ye'll  hae  seen 
the  last  0'  Jock  Gordon.  I  canna  be  doin'  wi'  a  gilravage 
o'  bairns  aboot  a  hoose " 

"  Jock,"  said  Ralph  earnestly,  "  will  you  help  me  to  see 
her  before  I  go  ?  " 

"  'Deed  that  I  wull,"  said  Jock,  very  practically.  "  I'll 
gaun  an'  wauken  her  the  noo  !  " 

"  You  must  not  do  that,"  said  Ralph,  "  but  perhaps  if 
you  knew  where  Meg  Kissock  slept,  you  might  tell  her." 

"  Certes,  I  can  that,"  said  Jock ;  "  I  can  pit  my  haund 
on  her  in  a  meenit.  But  mind  yer,  when  ye're  mairret, 
dinna  expect  Jock  Gordon  to  come  farther  nor  the  back 
kitchen." 

So  grumbling,  "  It  couldna  be  expeckit — I  canna  be  doin' 


THE   DEW  OP  THEIR  YOUTH.  217 

wi'  bairns  ava' "  Jock  took  his  way  up  the  long  loan- 
ing of  Craig  Ronald,  followed  through  the  elderbushes  by 
Kalph  Peden. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    DEW    OF   THEIR    YOUTH. 

Jock  made  his  way  without  a  moment's  hesitation  to  the 
little  hen-house  which  stood  at  one  end  of  the  farm  steading 
of  Craig  Ronald.  Up  this  he  walked  with  his  semi-prehen- 
sile bare  feet  as  easily  as  though  he  were  walking  along  the 
highway.  Up  to  the  rigging  of  the  house  he  went,  then 
along  it — setting  one  foot  on  one  side  and  the  other  on  the 
other,  turning  in  his  great  toes  upon  the  coping  for  sup- 
port. Thus  he  came  to  the  gable  end  at  which  Meg  slept. 
Jock  leaned  over  the  angle  of  the  roof  and  with  his  hand 
tapped  on  the  window. 

"  Wha's  there?"  said  Meg  from  her  bed,  no  more  sur- 
prised than  if  the  knock  had  been  upon  the  outer  door  at 
midday. 

"  It's  me,  daft  Jock  Gordon,"  said  Jock  candidly. 

"  Gae  wa'  wi'  ye,  Jock  !  Can  ye  no  let  decent  fowk  sleep 
in  their  beds  for  yae  nicht  ?  " 

"  Ye  maun  get  up,  Meg,"  said  Jock. 

"An' what  for  should  I  get  up?  "queried  Meg  indig- 
nantly. "  I  had  aneuch  o'  gettin'  up  yestreen  to  last  me  a 
gye  while." 

"  There's  a  young  man  here  wantin'  to  coort  your  mis- 
tress !  "  said  Jock  delicately. 

"  Ilaivers  !  "  said  Meg,  "  hae  ye  killed  another  puir 
man  ?  " 

"  Na,  na,  he's  honest — this  yin.    It's  the  young  man  frae 


218  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

the  manse.  The  auld  carle  o'  a  minister  has  turned  him  oot 
o'  hoose  an'  hame,  and  he's  gaun  awa'  to  Enbra'.  He  says 
he  maun  see  the  young  mistress  afore  he  gangs — but  maybe 
ye  ken  better,  Meg." 

"  Gae  wa'  frae  the  wunda,  Jock,  and  I'll  get  up,"  said 
Meg,  with  a  brevity  which  betokened  the  importance  of  the 
news. 

In  a  little  while  Meg  was  in  Winsome's  room.  The 
greyish  light  of  early  morning  was  just  peeping  in  past  the 
little  curtain.  On  the  chair  lay  the  lilac-sprigged  muslin 
dress  of  her  grandmother's,  which  Winsome  had  meant  to 
put  on  next  morning  to  the  kirk.  Her  face  lay  sideways 
on  the  pillow,  and  Meg  could  see  that  she  was  softly  crying 
even  in  her  sleep.  Meg  stood  over  her  a  moment.  Some- 
thing hard  lay  beneath  Winsome's  cheek,  pressing  into  its 
soft  rounding.  Meg  tenderly  slipped  it  out.  It  was  an  ordi- 
nary memorandum-book  written  with  curious  signs.  On 
the  pillow  by  her  lay  the  lilac  sunbonnet. 

Meg  put  her  arms  gently  round  Winsome,  saying: 

"  It's  me,  my  lamb.     It's  me,  your  Meg  ! " 

And  Meg's  cheek  was  pressed  against  that  of  Winsome, 
moist  with  sleep.  The  sleeper  stirred  with  a  dovelike  moan- 
ing, and  opened  her  eyes,  dark  with  sleep  and  wet  with  the 
tears  of  dreams,  upon  Meg. 

"  Waken,  my  bonnie ;  Meg  has  something  that  she  maun 
tell  ye." 

So  Winsome  looked  round  with  the  wild  fear  with  which 
she  now  started  from  all  her  sleeps ;  but  the  strong  arms 
of  her  loyal  Meg  were  about  her,  and  she  only  smiled  with  a 
vague  wistf  ulness,  and  said  : 

"  It's  you,  Meg,  my  dear  !  " 

So  into  her  ear  Meg  whispered  her  tale.  As  she  went 
on,  Winsome  clasped  her  round  the  neck,  and  thrust  her 
face  into  the  neck  of  Meg's  drugget  gown.    This  is  the  same 


THE   DEW  OF   THEIR    YOUTH.  219 

girl  who  had  set  the  ploughmen  their  work  and  appointed 
to  each  worker  about  the  farm  her  task.  It  seems  necessary 
to  say  so. 

"Noo,"  said  Meg,  when  she  had  finished,  "ye  ken 
whether  ye  want  to  see  him  or  no  !  " 

"Meg,"  whispered  Winsome,  "can  I  let  him  go  away  to 
Edinburgh  and  maybe  never  see  me  again,  without  a  word  V  " 

"  Ye  ken  that  best  yersel',''  said  Meg  with  high  impar- 
tiality, but  with  her  comforting  arms  very  close  about  her 
darling. 

"  I  think,"  said  Winsome,  the  tears  very  near  the  lids  of 
her  eyes,  "  that  I  had  better  not  see  him.  I — I  do  not  wish 
to  see  him — Meg,"  she  said  earnestly  ;  "  go  and  tell  him  not 
to  see  me  any  more,  and  not  to  think  of  a  girl  like  me " 

Meg  went  to  Wlnsome's  little  cupboard  wardrobe  in  the 
wall  and  took  down  the  old  lilac-sprayed  summer  gown 
which  she  had  worn  when  she  first  saw  Kalph  Peden. 

"  Ye  had  better  rise,  my  lassie,  an'  tak'  that  message 
yersel' !  "  said  Meg  dryly. 

So  obediently  Winsome  rose.  Meg  helped  her  to  dress, 
holding  silently  her  glimmering  white  garments  for  her  as 
she  had  done  when  first  as  a  fairy  child  she  came  to  Craig 
Ronald.  Some  of  them  were  a  little  roughly  held,  for  Meg 
could  not  see  quite  so  clearly  as  usual.  Also  when  she  spoke 
her  speech  sounded  more  abruptly  and  harshly  than  was  its 
wont. 

At  last  the  girl's  attire  was  complete,  and  Winsome  stood 
ready  for  her  morning  walk  fresh  as  the  dew  on  the  white 
lilies.  Meg  tied  the  strings  of  the  old  sunbonnet  beneath 
her  sweet  chin,  and  stepped  back  to  look  at  the  effect ;  then, 
with  sudden  impulsive  movement,  she  went  tumultuously 
forward  and  kissed  her  mistress  on  the  cheek. 

"  I  wusli  it  was  me  !  "  she  said,  pushing  Winsome  from 
the  room. 


220  THE  LILAC  SUNBOXNET. 

The  day  was  breaking  red  in  the  east  when  Winsome 
stepped  out  upon  the  little  wooden  stoop,  damp  with  the 
night  mist,  which  seemed  somehow  strange  to  her  feet.  She 
stepped  down,  giving  a  little  familiar  pat  to  the  bosom  of  her 
dress,  as  though  to  advertise  to  any  one  who  might  be  ob- 
serving that  it  was  her  constant  habit  thus  to  walk  abroad 
in  the  dawn. 

Meg  watched  her  as  she  went.  Then  she  turned  into 
the  house  to  stop  the  kitchen  clock  and  out  to  lock  the 
stable  door. 

Through  the  trees  Winsome  saw  Ralph  long  before  he  saw 
her.  She  was  a  woman ;  he  was  only  a  naturalist  and  a 
man.  She  drew  the  sunbonnet  a  little  farther  over  her  eyes. 
He  started  at  last,  turned,  and  came  eagerly  towards  her. 

Jock  Gordon,  who  had  remained  about  the  farm,  went 
quickly  to  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the  house  as  if  to  shut  it. 

"  Come  back  oot  o'  that,"  said  Meg  sharply. 

Jock  turned  quite  as  briskly. 

"  I  was  gaun  to  stand  wi'  my  back  til't,  sae  that  they 
micht  ken  there  was  naebody  luikin'.  D'ye  think  Jock 
Gordon  haes  nae  mainners  ?  "  he  said  indignantly. 

"  Staun  wi'  yer  back  to  a  creel  o'  peats,  Jock ;  it'll  fit  ye 
better !  "  observed  Meg,  giving  him  the  wicker  basket  with 
the  broad  leather  strap  which  was  used  at  Craig  Ronald  for 
bringing  the  peats  in  from  the  stack. 

Winsome  had  not  meant  to  look  at  Ralph  as  she  came 
up  to  him.  It  seemed  a  bold  and  impossible  thing  for  her 
ever  again  to  come  to  him.  The  fear  of  a  former  time  was 
still  strong  upon  her. 

Bat  as  soon  as  she  saw  him,  her  eyes  somehow  could  not 
leave  his  face.  He  dropped  his  hat  on  the  grass  beneath,  as 
he  came  forward  to  meet  her  under  the  great  branches  of  the 
oak-trees  by  the  little  pond.  She  had  meant  to  tell  him  that 
he  must  not  touch  her — she  was  not  to  be  touched ;  yet  she 


THE  DEW   OF   THEIR   YOUTO.  221 

went  straight  into  his  open  arms  like  a  homing  dove.  Iler 
great  eyes,  still  dewy  with  the  warm  light  of  love  in  them, 
never  left  his  till,  holding  his  love  safe  in  his  arms,  he  drew 
her  to  him  and  upon  her  sweet  lips  took  his  first  kiss  of  love. 

"  At  last !  "  he  said,  after  a  silence. 

The  sun  was  rising  over  the  hills  of  heather.  League 
after  league  of  the  imperial  colour  rolled  westward  as  the 
level  rays  of  the  sun  touched  it. 

"Now  do  you  understand,  my  beloved?"  said  Ralph. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  red  light  of  the  sun,  or  only  some  roseate 
tinge  from  the  miles  of  Galloway  heather  that  stretched  to 
the  north,  but  it  is  certain  that  there  was  a  glow  of  more 
than  earthly  beauty  on  Winsome's  face  as  she  stood  up,  still 
within  his  arms,  and  said  : 

"  I  do  not  understand  at  all,  but  I  love  you." 

Then,  because  there  is  notliing  more  true  and  trustful 
than  the  heart  of  a  good  woman,  or  more  surely  an  inherit- 
ance from  the  maid-mother  of  the  sinless  garden  than  her 
way  of  showing  that  she  gives  her  all.  Winsome  laid  her 
either  hand  on  her  lover's  shoulders  and  drew  his  face 
down  to  hers — laying  her  lips  to  his  of  her  own  free  will  and 
accord,  without  shame  in  giving,  or  coquetry  of  refusal,  in 
that  full  kiss  of  first  surrender  which  a  woman  may  give 
once,  but  never  twice,  in  her  life. 

This  also  is  part  of  the  proper  heritage  of  man  and 
woman,  and  whoso  has  missed  it  may  attain  wealth  or  am- 
bition, may  exhaust  the  earth — yet  shall  die  without  fully  or 
truly  living. 

A  moment  they  stood  in  silence,  swaying  a  little  like 
twin  flowers  in  the  wind  of  the  morning.  Then  taking 
hands  like  children,  they  slowly  walked  away  with  their 
faces  towards  the  sunrise.  There  was  the  light  of  a  new 
life  in  their  eyes.  It  is  good  sometimes  to  live  altogether 
in  the  present.  "  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  good 
15 


222  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

thereof,"  is  a  proverb  in  all  resjoects  equal  to  the  scriptural 
original. 

For  a  little  while  they  thus  walked  silently  forward,  and 
on  the  crest  of  the  ridge  above  the  nestling  farm  Ealph 
paused  to  take  his  last  look  of  Craig  Ronald.  Winsome 
turned  with  him  in  complete  comprehension,  though  as  yet 
he  had  told  her  no  word  of  his  projects.  Nor  did  she  think 
of  any  possible  parting,  or  of  anything  save  of  the  eyes 
into  which  she  did  not  cease  to  look,  and  the  lover  whose 
hand  it  was  enough  to  hold.  All  true  and  pure  love  is  an 
extension  of  God — the  gladness  in  the  eyes  of  lovers,  the 
tears  also,  bridals  and  espousals,  the  wife's  still  happiness, 
the  delight  of  new-made  homes,  the  tinkle  of  children's 
laughter.  It  needs  no  learned  exegete  to  explain  to  a  true 
lover  what  John  meant  when  he  said,  "  For  God  is  love." 
These  things  are  not  gifts  of  God,  they  are  parts  of  him. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Meg  Kissock,  having  seen 
them  stand  a  moment  still  against  the  sky,  and  then  go 
down  from  their  hilltop  towards  the  north,  unlocked  the 
stable  door,  at  which  Ebie  Fairrish  had  been  vainly  hammer- 
ing from  within  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then  she  went 
indoors  and  pulled  close  the  curtains  of  Winsome's  little 
room.  She  came  out,  locked  the  bedroom  door,  and  put 
the  key  in  her  pocket.  Her  mistress  had  a  headache.  Meg 
was  a  treasure  indeed,  as  a  thoughtful  person  about  a  house- 
hold often  is. 

As  Winsome  and  Ralph  went  down  the  farther  slope  of 
the  hill,  towards  the  road  that  stretched  away  northward 
across  the  moors,  they  fell  to  talking  together  very  practical- 
ly. They  had  much  to  say.  Before  they  had  gone  a  mile  the 
first  strangeness  had  worn  off,  and  the  stage  of  their  inti- 
macy may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  they  were  only  at 
the  edge  of  the  great  wood  of  Grannoch  bank,  when  Win- 
some reached  the  remark  which  undoubtedly  Mother  Eve 


THE  DEW  OF   THEIR   YOUTH.  223 

made  to  her  husband  after  they  had  been  some  time  ac- 
quainted: 

"  Do  you  know,  I  never  tliought  I  should  talk  to  any 
one  as  I  am  talking  to  you  ?  " 

Ealph  allowed  that  it  was  an  entirely  wonderful  thing — 
indeed,  a  belated  miracle.  Strangely  enough,  he  had  experi- 
enced exactly  the  same  thought.  "  Was  it  possible  ?  "  smiled 
Winsome  gladly,  from  under  the  lilac  sunbonuet. 

Such  wondrous  and  unexampled  correspondence  of  im- 
pression proved  that  they  were  made  for  one  another,  did  it 
not?  At  this  point  they  paused.  Exercise  in  the  early 
morning  is  fatiguing.  Only  the  unique  character  of  these 
refreshing  experiences  induces  us  to  put  them  on  record. 

Then  Winsome  and  Ealph  proceeded  to  other  and  not 
less  extraordinary  discoveries.  Sitting  on  a  wind-over- 
turned tree-trunk,  looking  out  from  the  edge  of  the  fring- 
ing woods  of  the  Grannoch  bank  towards  the  swells  of 
Cairnsmuir's  green  bosom,  they  entered  upon  their  position 
with  great  practicality.  Nature,  with  an  unusual  want  of 
foresight,  had  neglected  to  provide  a  back  to  this  sylvan 
seat,  so  Ealph  attended  to  the  matter  himself.  This  shows 
that  self-help  is  a  virtue  to  be  encouraged. 

Ealph  had  some  disinclination  to  speak  of  the  terrors  of 
the  night  which  had  forever  rolled  away.  Still,  he  felt  that 
the  matter  must  be  cleared  up;  so  that  it  was  with  doubt 
in  his  mind  that  he  showed  Winsome  the  written  line  which 
had  taken  him  to  the  bridge  instead  of  to  the  hill  gate. 

"  That's  Jess  Kissock's  writing !  "  Winsome  said  at  once. 
Ealph  had  the  same  thought.  So  in  a  few  moments  they 
traced  the  whole  plot  to  its  origin.  It  was  a  fit  product  of 
the  impish  brain  of  Jess  Kissock.  Jess  had  sent  the  false 
note  of  appointment  to  Ealph  by  Andra,  knowing  that  he 
would  be  so  exalted  with  the  contents  that  he  would  never 
doubt  its  accuracy.     Then  she  had  despatched  Jock  Gor- 


22i  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

don  with  Winsome's  real  letter  to  Greatorix  Castle ;  in 
answer  to  the  supposed  summons,  which  was  genuine 
enough,  though  not  meant  for  him,  Agnew  Greatorix  had 
come  to  the  hill  gate,  and  Jess  had  met  Ralph  by  the  bridge 
to  play  her  own  cards  as  best  she  could  for  herself. 

"  How  wicked  ! "  said  Winsome,  "  after  all." 

"  How  foolish  !  "  said  Ralph,  "  to  think  for  a  moment 
that  any  one  could  separate  you  and  me." 

But  Winsome  bethought  herself  how  foolishly  jealous 
she  had  been  when  she  found  Jess  putting  a  flower  into 
Ralph's  coat,  and  Jess's  plot  did  not  look  quite  so  impos- 
sible as  before. 

"  I  think,  dear,"  said  Ralph,  "  you  must  after  this  make 
your  letters  so  full  of  your  love,  that  there  can  be  no  mis- 
take whom  they  are  intended  for." 

"  I  mean  to,"  said  Winsome  frankly. 

There  was  also  some  fine  scenery  at  this  point. 

But  there  w^as  no  hesitation  in  Ralph  Peden's  tone  when 
he  settled  down  steadily  to  tell  her  of  his  hopes. 

Winsome  sat  with  her  eyes  downcast  and  her  head  a 
little  to  one  side,  like  a  bright-eyed  bird  listening. 

"  That  is  all  true  and  delightful,"  she  said,  "  but  we 
must  not  be  selfish  or  forget," 

"  We  must  remember  one  another !  "  said  Ralph,  with 
the  absorption  of  newly  assured  love. 

"  We  are  in  no  danger  of  forgetting  one  another,"  said 
that  wise  woman  in  counsel ;  "  we  must  not  forget  others. 
There  is  your  father — you  have  not  forgotten  him." 

With  a  pang  Ralph  remembered  that  there  was  yet 
something  that  he  could  not  tell  Winsome.  He  had  not 
even  been  frank  with  her  concerning  the  reason  of  his 
leaving  the  manse  and  going  to  Edinburgh.  She  only  un- 
derstood that  it  was  connected  with  his  love  for  her,  which 
was  not  approved  of  by  the  minister  of  the  Marrow  kirk. 


THE   DEW  OF  THEIK   YOUTH.  225 

"  My  father  will  be  as  much  pleased  with  you  as  I,"  said 
Kalph,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Winsome,  laughing  ;  "  fathers  always 
are  with  their  sons'  sweethearts.  But  you  have  not  forgot- 
ten something  else  ?  " 

"  What  may  that  be  ?  "  said  Ealph  doubtfully. 

"  That  I  cannot  leave  my  grandfather  and  grandmother 
at  Craig  Konald  as  they  are.  They  have  cared  for  me  and 
given  me  a  home  when  I  had  not  a  friend.  Would  you 
love  me  as  you  do,  if  I  could  leave  them  even  to  go  out  into 
the  world  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Ralph  very  reluctantly,  but  like  a  man. 

"  Then,"  said  Winsome  bravely,  "  go  to  Edinburgh. 
Fight  your  own  battle,  and  mine,"  she  added. 

"  Winsome,"  said  Ealph,  earnestly,  for  this  serious  and 
practical  side  of  her  character  was  an  additional  and  un- 
expected revelation  of  perfection,  "  if  you  make  as  good  a 
wife  as  you  make  a  sweetheart,  you  will  make  one  man 
happy." 

"  I  mean  to  make  a  man  happy,"  said  Winsome,  confi- 
dently. 

The  scenery  again  asserted  its  claim  to  attention.  Ob- 
servation enlarges  the  mind,  and  is  therefore  pleasant. 

After  a  pause.  Winsome  said  irrelevantly. 

"  And  you  really  do  not  think  me  so  foolish  ?  " 

"  Foolish  !     I  think  you  are  the  wisest  and " 

"No,  no."  Winsome  would  not  let  him  proceed.  "  You 
do  not  really  think  so.  You  know  that  I  am  wayward  and 
changeable,  and  not  at  all  what  I  ought  to  be.  Granny 
always  tells  me  so.  It  was  very  different  when  she  was 
young,  she  says.  Do  you  know,"  continued  Winsome 
thoughtfully,  "  I  used  to  be  so  frightened,  when  I  know 
that  you  could  read  in  all  these  wise  books  of  which  I  d\d 
not  know  a  letter?     But  I  must  confess — I  do  not  know 


226  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

what  you  will  say,  you  may  even  be  angry — I  have  a  note- 
book of  yours  which  I  kept." 

But  if  Winsome  wanted  a  new  sensation  she  was  disap- 
pointed, for  Ealph  was  by  no  means  angry. 

"  So  that's  where  it  went?"  said  Ralph,  smiling  gladly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Winsome,  blushing  not  so  much  with  guilt 
as  with  the  consciousness  of  the  locality  of  the  note-book  at 
that  moment,  which  she  was  not  yet  prepared  to  tell  him. 
But  she  consoled  herself  with  the  thought  that  she  would 
tell  him  one  day. 

Strangely  however,  Ralph  did  not  seem  to  care  much 
about  the  book,  so  Winsome  changed  the  subject  to  one  of 
greater  interest. 

"  And  what  else  did  you  think  about  me  that  first  day? 
— tell  me,"  said  Winsome,  shamelessly^. 

It  was  Ralph's  opportunity. 

"  Why,  you  know  very  well,  Winsome  dear,  that  ever 
since  the  day  I  first  saw  you  I  have  thought  that  there 
never  was  any  one  like  you " 

"Yes?"  said  Winsome,  with  a  rising  inflection  in  her 
voice. 

"  I  ever  thought  you  the  best  and  the  kindest " 

"Yes?"  said  Winsome,  a  little  breathlessly. 

"  The  most  helpful  and  the  wisest " 

"Yes?"  said  Winsome. 

"  And  the  most  beautiful  girl  I  have  ever  seen  in  my 
life ! " 

"  Then  I  do  not  care  for  anything  else  ! "  cried  Winsome, 
clapping  her  hands.  She  had  been  resolving  to  learn  He- 
brew five  minutes  before. 

"Nor  do  I,  really,"  said  Ralph,  speaking  out  the  inmost 
soul  that  is  in  every  young  man. 

As  Ralph  Peden  sat  looking  at  Winsome  the  thought 
came  sometimes  to  him — but   not  often — "  This  is  Allan 


THE   DEW  OF   THEIR   YOUTH.  927 

Welsh's  daughter,  the  daughter  of  the  woman  whom  my 
father  once  loved,  who  lies  so  still  under  the  green  sod  of 
Crossthwaite  beneath  the  lea  of  Skiddaw." 

He  looked  at  her  eyes,  deep  blue  like  the  depths  of  the 
Mediterranean  Sea,  and,  like  it,  shot  through  with  interior 
light. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  asked  Winsome,  who  had 
also  meanwhile  been  looking  at  him. 

"  Of  your  eyes,  dear  ! "  said  Ealph,  telling  half  the  truth 
— a  good  deal  for  a  lover. 

Winsome  paused  for  further  information,  looking  into 
the  depths  of  his  soul.  Ralph  felt  as  though  his  heart  and 
judgment  were  being  assaulted  by  storming  parties,  lie 
looked  into  these  wells  of  blue  and  saw  the  love  quivering 
in  them  as  the  broken  light  quivers,  deflected  on  its  way 
through  clear  water  to  a  sea  bottom  of  golden  sand. 

"  You  want  to  hear  me  tell  you  something  wiser,"  said 
Ealph,  who  did  not  know  everything ;  "  you  are  bored  with 
my  foolish  talk." 

And  he  would  have  spoken  of  the  hopes  of  his  future. 

"  No,  no  ;  tell  me — tell  me  what  you  see  in  my  eyes," 
said  Winsome,  a  little  impatiently. 

"  Well  then,  first,"  said  truthful  Ralph,  who  certainly  did 
not  flinch  from  the  task,  "  I  see  the  fairest  thing  God  made 
for  man  to  see.  All  the  beauty  of  the  world,  losing  its  way, 
stumbled,  and  was  drowned  in  the  eyes  of  my  love.  They 
have  robbed  the  sunshine,  and  stolen  the  morning  dew. 
The  sparkle  of  the  light  on  the  water,  the  gladness  of  a 
child  when  it  laughs  because  it  lives,  the  sunshine  which 
makes  the  butterflies  dance  and  the  world  so  beautiful — all 
these  I  see  in  your  eyes." 

"  This  story  is  plainly  impossible.  This  practical  girl 
was  not  one  to  find  pleasure  in  listening  to  flattery.  Let  us 
read  no  more  in  this  book."     This  is  what  some  wise  people 


228  I'flE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

will  say  at  this  point.  So,  to  their  loss  will  they  close  the 
book.  They  have  not  achieved  all  knowledge.  The  wisest 
woman  would  rather  hear  of  her  eyes  than  of  her  mind. 
There  are  those  who  say  the  reverse,  but  then  perhaps  no 
one  has  ever  had  cause  to  tell  them  concerning  what  lies  hid 
in  their  eyes. 

Many  had  wished  to  tell  Winsome  these  things,  but  to 
no  one  hitherto  had  been  given  the  discoverer's  soul,  the 
poet's  voice,  the  wizard's  hand  to  bring  the  answering  love 
out  of  the  deep  sea  of  divine  possibilities  in  which  the  tides 
ran  high  and  never  a  lighthouse  told  of  danger. 

"  Tell  me  more,"  said  Winsome,  being  a  woman,  as  well 
as  fair  and  young.  These  last  are  not  necessary ;  to  desire 
to  be  told  about  one's  eyes,  it  is  enough  to  be  a  woman. 

Ealph  looked  down.  In  such  cases  it  is  necessary  to 
refresh  the  imagination  constantly  with  the  facts.  As  in 
the  latter  days  wise  youths  read  messages  from  the  quiver- 
ing needle  of  the  talking  machine,  so  lialph  read  his  mes- 
sage flash  by  flash  as  it  pulsated  upward  from  a  pure 
woman's  soul. 

"  Once  you  would  not  tell  me  why  your  eyelashes  were 
curled  up  at  the  ends,"  said  this  eager  Columbus  of  a  new 
continent,  drawing  the  new  world  nearer  his  heart  in  order 
that  his  discoveries  might  be  truer,  surer,  in  detail  more 
trustworthy.  "  I  know  now  without  telling.  Would  you 
like  to  know,  Winsome  ?  " 

Winsome  drew  a  haj)py  breath,  nestling  a  little  closer — 
so  little  that  no  one  but  Ralph  would  have  known.  But  the 
little  shook  him  to  the  depths  of  his  soul.  This  it  is  to  be 
young  and  for  the  first  time  mastering  the  geography  of  an 
unknown  and  untraversed  continent.  The  unversed  might 
have  thought  that  light  breath  a  sigh,  but  no  lover  could 
have  made  the  mistake.  It  is  only  in  books,  wordy  aud  un- 
real, that  lovers  misunderstand  each  other  in  that  way. 


THE  DEW  OP  THEIR  YOUTH.  229 

"  I  know,"  said  Ealph,  needing  no  word  of  permission  to 
proceed,  "  it  is  with  touching  your  cheek  when  you  sleep." 

"  Then  I  must  sleep  a  very  long  time  !  "  said  Winsome 
merrily,  making  light  of  his  words. 

"  Underneath  in  the  dark  of  either  eye,"  continued  Ralj^h, 
who,  he  it  not  forgotten,  was  a  poet,  "  I  see  two  young 
things  like  cherubs." 

"  I  know,"  said  Winsome ;  "  I  see  myself  in  your  eyes — 
you  see  yourself  in  mine." 

She  paused  to  note  the  effect  of  this  tremendous  dis- 
covery. 

"  Then,"  replied  Ealph,  "  if  it  be  indeed  my  own  self  I 
see  in  your  eyes,  it  is  myself  as  God  made  me  at  first  with- 
out sin.  I  do  not  feel  at  all  like  a  cherub  now,  but  I  must 
have  been  once,  if  I  ever  was  like  what  I  see  in  your  eyes." 

"  Now  go  on ;  tell  me  what  else  you  see,"  said  Winsome. 

"  Your  lips "  began  Ralph,  and  paused. 

"  No,  six  is  quite  enough,"  said  Winsome,  after  a  little 
while,  mysteriously.  She  had  only  two,  and  Ealph  only 
two  ;  yet  she  said  with  little  grammar  and  no  sense  at  all, 
"  Six  is  enough." 

But  a  voice  from  quite  other  lips  came  over  the  rising 
background  of  scrub  and  tangled  thicket. 

"Gang  on  coortin',"  it  said  ;  "  I'm  no  lookin',  an'  I  canna 
see  ony thing  onyway." 

It  was  Jock  Gordon.     lie  continued  : 

"  Jock  Scott's  gane  hame  till  his  breakfast.  He'll  no 
bother  ye  this  morniu',  sae  coort  awa'." 


230  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER   XXXV. 

SUCH    SWEET   SORROW. 

"Winsome  and  Ealph  laughed,  but  Winsome  sat  up  and 
put  straight  her  sunbonuet.  Sunbounets  are  troublesome 
things.  They  will  not  stick  on  one's  head.  Manse  Bell  con- 
tradicts this.  She  says  that  her  sunbonnet  never  comes  off, 
or  gets  pushed  back.  As  for  other  people's,  lasses  are  not 
what  they  were  in  her  young  days. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  said  Winsome ;  "  they  will  miss  me." 

"  You  know  that  it  is  '  good-bye,'  then,". said  Ralph. 

"  What !  "  said  Winsome,  "  shall  I  not  see  you  to-mor- 
row ? "  the  bright  light  of  gladness  dying  out  of  her  eye. 
And  the  smile  drained  down  out  of  her  cheek  like  the  last 
sand  out  of  the  sand-glass. 

"  No,"  said  Ralph  quietly,  keeping  his  eyes  full  on  hers, 
"  I  cannot  go  back  to  the  manse  after  what  was  said.  It  is 
not  likely  that  I  shall  ever  be  there  again." 

"  Then  when  shall  I  see  you?"  said  Winsome  piteously. 
It  is  the  cry  of  all  loving  womanhood,  whose  love  goes  out 
to  the  battle  or  into  the  city,  to  the  business  of  war,  or  pleas- 
ure, or  even  of  money-getting.  "  Then  when  shall  I  see  yoa 
again  ?  "  said  Winsome,  saying  a  new  thing.  There  is  noth- 
ing new  under  the  sun,  yet  to  lovers  like  Winsome  and 
Ealph  all  things  are  new. 

There  was  a  catch  in  her  throat.  A  Salter  dew  gathered 
about  her  eyes,  and  the  pupils  expanded  till  the  black 
seemed  to  shut  out  the  blue. 

Very  tenderly  Ralph  looked  down,  and  said,  "  Winsome, 
my  dear,  very  soon  I  shall  come  again  with  more  to  ask 
and  more  to  tell." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  straight  away  to  Edinburgh 


SUCH  SWEET  SORROW.  231 

now  ?  You  must  get  a  drive  to  Dumfries  and  take  the 
Edinburgh  coach." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,"  said  Kalph ;  "  I  must  walk  all  the 
way  ;  it  is  nothing." 

Winsome  looked  at  Ralph,  the  motherly  instinct  that  is 
in  all  true  love  surging  up  even  above  the  lover's  instinct.  It 
made  her  clasp  and  unclasp  her  hands  in  distress,  to  think 
of  him  going  away  alone  over  the  waste  moors,  from  the 
place  where  they  had  been  so  happy. 

"  And  he  will  leave  me  behind ! "  she  said,  with  a  sudden 
fear  of  the  loneliness  which  would  surely  come  when  the 
bright  universe  was  emptied  of  Ralph. 

"  Had  it  only  been  to-morrow,  I  could  have  borne  it  bet- 
ter," she  said.  "  Oh,  it  is  too  soon  !  How  could  he  let  us 
be  so  happy  when  he  was  going  away  from  me  ?  " 

Winsome  knew  even  better  than  Ralph  that  he  must  go, 
but  the  most  accurate  knowledge  of  necessity  does  not  pre- 
vent the  resentful  feeling  in  a  woman's  heart  when  one  she 
loves  goes  before  his  time. 

But  the  latent  motherhood  in  this  girl  rose  up.  If  he 
were  truly  hers,  he  was  hers  to  take  care  of.  Therefore 
she  asked  the  question  which  every  mother  asks,  and  no 
sweetheart  who  is  nothing  but  a  sweetheart  has  ever  yet 
asked : 

"  Have  you  enough  money  ?  " 

Ralph  blushed  and  looked  most  unhappy,  for  the  first 
time  since  the  sun  rose. 

"  I  have  none  at  all,"  he  said  ;  "  my  father  only  gave  me 
the  money  for  my  journey  to  the  Dullarg,  and  Mr.  Welsh 

was  to  provide  me  what  was  necessary "     He  stopped 

here,  it  seemed  such  a  hard  and  shameful  thing  to  say.  "  I 
have  never  had  anything  to  do  with  money,"  he  said,  hang- 
ing down  his  head. 

Now  Winsome,  who  was  exceedingly  practical  in  this 


232  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

matter,  went  forward  to  him  quickly  and  put  an  arm  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  My  poor  boy  ! "  she  said,  with  the  tenderest  and  sweet- 
est expression  on  her  face.  And  again  Ralph  Peden  per- 
ceived that  there  are  things  more  precious  than  much 
money. 

"  Now  bend  your  head  and  let  me  whisper."  It  was 
already  bent,  but  it  was  iu  his  ear  that  Winsome  wished  to 
speak. 

"  No,  no,  indeed  I  cannot,  "Winsome,  my  love  ;  I  could 
not,  indeed,  and  in  truth  I  do  not  need  it." 

Winsome  dropjoed  her  arms  and  stepped  back  tragically. 
She  put  one  hand  over  the  other  upon  her  breast,  and 
turned  half  way  from  him. 

"Then  you  do  not  love  me,"  she  said,  purely  as  a  coer- 
cive measure. 

"  I  do,  I  do — you  know  that  I  do  ;  but  I  could  not  take 
it,"  said  Ralj^h,  piteously. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  then,"  said  Winsome,  without  holding 
out  her  hand,  and  turning  away. 

"  You  do  not  mean  it ;  Winsome,  you  cannot  be  cruel, 
after  all.  Come  back  and  sit  down.  We  shall  talk  about  it, 
and  you  will  see " 

Winsome  paused  and  looked  at  him,  standing  so  pite- 
ously. She  says  now  that  she  really  meant  to  go  away,  but 
she  smiles  when  she  says  it,  as  if  she  did  not  quite  believe 
the  statement  herself.  But  something — perhaps  the  look  in 
his  eyes,  and  the  thought  that,  like  herself,  he  had  never 
known  a  mother — made  her  turn.  Going  back,  she  took  his 
hand  and  laid  it  against  her  cheek. 

"  Ralph,"  she  said,  "  listen  to  me ;  if  /  needed  help  and 
had  none  I  should  not  be  proud  ;  I  would  not  quarrel  with 
you  when  you  offered  to  help  me.  No,  I  would  even  ask 
you  for  it !     But  then  I  love  you.'''' 


SUCH  SWEET  SORROW.  233 

It  was  hardly  fair.  "Winsome  acknowledges  as  much 
herself  ;  but  then  a  woman  has  no  weapons  but  her  wit  and 
her  beauty — which  is,  seeing  the  use  she  can  make  of  these 
two,  on  the  whole  rather  fortunate  than  otherwise. 

Kalph  looked  eager  and  a  little  frightened. 

"  Would  you  do  that  really  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Of  course  I  should  ! "  replied  Winsome,  a  little  indig- 
nantly. 

Ealph  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  in  such  a  masterful 
way,  that  first  she  was  frightened  and  then  she  was  glad. 
It  is  good  to  feel  weak  in  the  arms  of  a  strong  man  who 
loves  you.     God  made  it  so  when  he  made  all  things  well. 

"  My  lassie  I "  said  Ralph  for  all  comment. 

Then  fell  a  silence  so  prolonged  that  a  shy  squirrel  in 
the  boughs  overhead  resumed  his  researches  upon  the  tassels 
and  young  shoots  of  the  pine-tops,  throwing  down  the  de- 
bris in  a  contemptuous  manner  upon  Winsome  and  Ralph, 
who  stood  below,  listening  to  the  beating  of  each  other's 
hearts. 

Finally  Winsome,  without  moving,  produced  apparently 
from  regions  unknown  a  long  green  silk  purse  with  three 
silver  rings  round  the  middle. 

As  she  put  it  into  Ralph's  hand,  something  doubtful 
started  again  into  his  eyes,  but  Winsome  looked  so  fierce  in 
a  moment,  and  so  decidedly  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips,  that 
perforce  he  was  silent. 

As  soon  as  he  had  taken  it,  Winsome  clapped  her  hands 
(as  well  as  was  at  the  time  possible  for  her — it  seemed,  in- 
deed, altogether  impossible  to  an  outsider,  yet  it  was  done), 
and  said : 

"  You  are  not  sorry,  dear — you  are  glad  ?  "  with  inter- 
rogatively arched  eyebrows. 

"Yes,"  said  Ralph,  "  I  am  very  glad."  As  indeed  he 
might  well  be. 


234  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  wise  young  woman,  "  it  is  this  way : 
all  that  is  my  very  own.  /  am  your  very  own,  so  what  is 
in  the  purse  is  your  very  own. 

Logic  is  great — greatest  when  the  logician  is  distracting- 
ly  pretty ;  then,  at  least,  it  is  sure  to  prevail — unless,  indeed, 
the  opponent  be  blind,  or  another  woman.  This  is  why 
they  do  not  examine  ladies  orally  in  logic  at  the  great  colleges. 

We  have  often  tried  to  recover  Ealph's  reply,  but  the 
text  is  corrupt  at  this  place,  the  context  entirely  lost.  Ex- 
perts suspect  a  palimpsest. 

Perhaps  we  linger  overly  long  on  the  records ;  but  there 
is  so  much  called  love  in  the  world,  which  is  no  love,  that 
there  may  be  some  use  in  dwelling  upon  the  histories  of  a 
love  which  was  fresh  and  tender,  sweet  and  true.  It  is  at 
once  instruction  for  the  young,  and  for  tlie  older  folk  a 
cast  back  into  the  days  that  were.  If  to  any  it  is  a  mockery 
or  a  scorning,  so  much  the  worse — for  of  them  who  sit  in 
the  scorner's  chair  the  doom  is  written. 

Winsome  and  Ealph  walked  on  into  the  eye  of  the  day, 
hand  in  hand,  as  was  their  wont.  They  crossed  the  dreary 
moor,  which  yet  is  not  dreary  when  you  came  to  look  at 
it  on  such  a  morning  as  this. 

The  careless  traveller  glancing  at  it  as  he  passed  might 
call  it  dreary ;  but  in  the  hollows,  miniature  lakes  glistened, 
into  which  the  tiny  spurs  of  granite  ran  out  flush  with  tlie 
water  like  miniature  piers.  The  wind  of  the  morning 
waking,  rippled  on  the  lakelets,  and  blew  the  bracken  softly 
northward.  The  heather  was  dark  rose  purple,  the  "  ling  " 
dominating  the  miles  of  moor  ;  for  the  lavender-grey  flush 
of  the  true  heather  had  not  yet  broken  over  the  great  spaces 
of  the  south  uplands. 

So  their  feet  dragged  slower  as  they  drew  near  to  that 
spot  where  they  knew  they  must  part.  There  was  no 
thought  of  going  back.     There  was  even  little  of  pain. 


SUCH  SWEET  SORROW.  235 

Perfect  love  had  done  its  work.  All  frayed  and  second- 
hand loves  may  be  made  ashamed  by  the  fearlessness  of 
these  two  walking  to  their  farewell  trysting-place,  lonely 
amid  the  world  of  heather.  Only  daft  Jock  Gordon  above 
them,  like  a  jealous  scout,  scoured  the  heights — sometimes 
on  all-fours,  sometimes  bending  double,  with  his  long  arms 
swinging  like  windmills,  scaring  even  the  sheep  and  the 
deer  lest  they  should  come  too  near.  Overhead  there  was 
nothing  nearer  them  than  the  blue  lift,  and  even  that  had 
withdrawn  itself  infinitely  far  away,  as  though  the  angels 
themselves  did  not  wish  to  spy  on  a  later  Eden.  It  was 
that  midsummer  glory  of  love-time,  when  grey  Galloway 
covers  up  its  flecked  granite  and  becomes  a  true  Purple 
Land. 

If  there  be  a  fairer  spot  within  the  four  seas  than 
this  fringe  of  birch-fringed  promontory  which  juts  into 
westernmost  Loch  Ken,  I  do  not  know  it.  Almost  an 
island,  it  is  set  about  with  the  tiniest  beaches  of  white 
sand.  From  the  rocks  that  look  boldly  up  the  loch  the 
heather  and  the  saxifrage  reflect  themselves  in  the  still 
water.  To  reach  it  Winsome  led  Ealph  among  the  scented 
gall-bushes  and  bog  myrtle,  where  in  the  marshy  meadows 
the  lonely  grass  of  Parnassus  was  growing.  Pure  white 
petals,  veined  green,  with  spikelets  of  green  set  in  the 
angles  within,  five-lobed  broidery  of  daintiest  gold  stitch- 
ing, it  shone  with  so  clear  a  presage  of  hope  that  Ealph 
stooped  to  pick  it  that  he  might  give  it  to  Winsome. 

She  stoi^ped  him. 

"  Do  not  pull  it,"  she  said ;  "  leave  it  for  me  to  come  and 
look  at — when — when  you  are  gone.  It  will  soon  wither  if 
it  is  taken  away ;  but  give  me  some  of  the  bog  myrtle  in- 
stead," she  added,  seeing  that  Kalph  looked  a  little  dis- 
appointed. 

Ealph  gathered  some  of   the  narrow,  brittle,  frairrant 


236  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

leaves.  Wiusome  carefully  kept  half  for  herself,  and  as 
carefully  inserted  a  spray  in  each  pocket  of  his  coat. 

"  There,  that  will  keep  you  in  mind  of  Galloway  !  "  she 
said.  And  indeed  the  bog  myrtle  is  the  characteristic 
smell  of  the  great  world  of  hill  and  moss  we  call  by  that 
name.  In  far  lands  the  mere  thought  of  it  has  brought 
tears  to  the  eyes  unaccustomed,  so  close  do  the  scents  and 
sights  of  the  old  Free  Province — the  lordship  of  the  Picts 
— wind  themselves  about  the  hearts  of  its  sons. 

"  We  transplant  badly,  we  plants  of  the  hills.  You 
must  come  back  to  me,"  said  Winsome,  after  a  pause  of 
wondering  silence. 

Loch  Ken  lay  like  a  dream  in  the  clear  dispersed  light 
of  the  morning,  the  sun  shimmering  upon  it  as  through 
translucent  ground  glass.  Teal  and  moor-hen  squattered 
away  from  the  shore  as  Winsome  and  Ralph  climbed  tlie 
brae,  and  stood  looking  northward  over  the  superb  levels  of 
the  loch.  On  the  horizon  Cairnsmuir  showed  golden  tints 
through  his  steadfast  blue. 

Whaups  swirled  and  wailed  about  the  rugged  side  of 
Bennan  above  their  heads.  Across  the  loch  there  was  a 
solitary  farm  so  beautifully  set  that  Ralph  silently  pointed 
it  out  to  Winsome,  who  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"  The  Shirmers  has  just  been  let  on  a  nineteen  years' 
lease,"  she  said,  "  eighteen  to  run." 

So  practical  was  the  answer,  that  Ralph  laughed,  and 
the  strain  of  his  sadness  was  broken.  He  did  not  mean  to 
wait  eighteen  years  for  her,  fathers  or  no  fathers. 

Then  beyond,  the  whole  land  leaped  skyward  in  great 
heathery  sweeps,  save  only  here  and  there,  where  about 
some  hill  farm  the  little  emerald  crofts  and  blue-green 
springing  oatlands  clustered  closest.  The  loch  spread  far 
to  the  north,  sleeping  in  the  sunshine.  Burnished  like  a 
mirror  it  was,  with  no  breath  upon  it.     In  the  south  the 


SUCH  SWEET  SORROW.  237 

Dee  water  came  down  from  the  hills  peaty  and  brown. 
The  roaring  of  its  rapids  could  faintly  be  heard.  To  the 
east,  across  the  loch,  an  island  slept  in  the  fairway,  wooded 
to  the  water's  edge. 

It  were  a  good  place  to  look  one's  last  on  the  earth, 
this  wooded  promontory,  which  might  indeed  have  been 
that  mountain,  though  a  little  one,  from  which  was  once 
seen  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  and  the  glory  of  them. 
For  there  are  no  finer  glories  on  the  earth  than  red  heather 
and  blue  loch,  except  only  love  and  youth. 

So  here  love  and  youth  had  come  to  part,  between  the 
heather  that  glowed  on  the  Bennan  Hill  and  the  sapphire 
pavement  of  Loch  Ken. 

For  a  long  time  Winsome  and  Ralph  were  silent — the 
empty  interior  sadness,  mixed  of  great  fear  and  great  hun- 
ger, beginning  to  grip  them  as  they  stood.  Lives  only  just 
twined  and  unified  were  again  to  twain.  Love  lately  knit 
was  to  be  torn  asunder.  Eyes  were  to  look  no  more  into  the 
answering  eloquence  of  other  eyes. 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Ralph,  looking  down  into  his  be- 
trothed's  face. 

"  Stay  only  a  little,"  said  AVinsome.  "  It  is  the  last 
time." 

So  he  stayed. 

Strange,  nervous  constrictions  played  at  "  cat's  cradle  " 
about  their  hearts.  Vague  noises  boomed  and  drummed  in 
their  ears,  making  their  own  words  sound  strange  and  empty, 
like  voices  heard  in  a  dream. 

"  Winsome  !  "  said  Ralph. 

"  Ralph  !  "  said  Winsome, 

"  You  will  never  for  a  moment  forget  me  ?  "  said  Win- 
some Charteris. 

"  You  will  never  for  a  moment  forget  me  ?  "  said  Ralph 

Peden. 

IG 


238  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

The  mutual  ans-ver  taken  and  given,  after  a  long  silence 
of  soul  and  body  in  not-to-be-forgotten  communion,  they 
drew  apart. 

Ealph  went  a  little  way  down  the  birch-fringed  hill,  but 
turned  to  look  a  last  look.  Winsome  was  standing  where 
he  had  left  her.  Something  in  her  attitude  told  of  the  tears 
steadily  falling  upon  her  summer  dress.  It  was  enough  and 
too  much. 

Ealph  ran  back  quickly. 

"  I  cannot  go  away,  Winsome.  I  cannot  bear  to  leave 
you  like  this  !  " 

Winsome  looked  at  him  and  fought  a  good  fight,  like  the 
brave  girl  she  was.  Then  she  smiled  through  her  tears  with 
the  sudden  radiance  of  the  sun  upon  a  showery  May  morn- 
ing when  the  white  hawthorn  is  coming  out. 

At  this  a  sob,  dangerously  deep,  rending  and  sudden, 
forced  itself  from  Ealph's  throat.  Her  smile  was  infinitely 
more  heart-breaking  than  her  tears.  Ealph  uttered  a  kind 
of  low  inarticulate  roar  at  the  sight — being  his  impotent 
protest  against  his  love's  pain.  Yet  such  moments  are  the 
ineffaceable  treasures  of  life,  had  he  but  known  it.  Many 
a  man's  deeds  follow  his  vows  simply  because  his  lips  have 
tasted  the  salt  water  of  love's  ocean  upon  the  face  of  the  be- 
loved. 

"  Be  brave,  Winsome,"  said  Ealph ;  "  it  shall  not  be  for 
long." 

Yet  she  was  braver  than  he,  had  he  but  known  it ;  for  it 
is  the  heritage  of  the  woman  to  be  the  stronger  in  the  crises 
which  inevitably  wait  upon  love  and  love's  achievement. 

Winsome  bent  to  kiss,  with  a  touch  like  a  benediction, 
not  his  lips  now  but  his  brow,  as  he  stood  beneath  her  on 
the  hill  slope. 

"  Go,"  she  said  ;  "  go  quickly,  while  I  have  the  strength. 
I  will  be  brave.     Be  thou  brave  also.     God  be  with  thee ! " 


SUCH  SWEET  SORROW.  239 

So  Ralph  turned  and  fled  while  he  could.  He  dared  not 
trust  himself  to  look  till  he  was  past  the  hill  and  some  way 
across  the  moor.  Then  he  turned  and  looked  back  over  the 
acres  of  heather  wliicli  he  had  put  between  himself  and 
his  love. 

Winsome  still  stood  on  the  hill-top,  the  sun  shining  on 
her  face.  In  her  hand  was  the  lilac  sunbonnet,  making  a 
splash  of  faint  pure  colour  against  the  blonde  whiteness  of 
her  dress.  Ralph  could  just  catch  the  golden  shimmer  of 
her  hair.  He  knew  but  he  could  not  see  how  it  crisped  and 
tendrilled  about  her  brow,  and  how  the  light  wind  blew  it 
into  little  cirrus  wisps  of  sun-flossed  gold.  The  thought 
that  for  long  he  should  see  it  no  more  was  even  harder  than 
parting.  It  is  the  hard  things  on  this  earth  that  are  the 
easiest  to  do.  The  great  renunciation  is  easy,  but  it  is  in- 
finitely harder  to  give  up  the  sweet,  responsive  delight  of  the 
eye,  the  thouglit,  the  caress.  This  also  is  human.  God 
made  it. 

The  lilac  sunbonnet  waved  a  little  heartless  wave  which 
dropped  in  the  middle  as  if  a  string  were  broken.  But  the 
shining  hair  blew  out,  as  a  waft  of  wind  from  the  Bennan 
fretted  a  moving  patch  across  the  loch. 

Ralph  flung  out  his  hand  in  one  of  the  savage  gestures 
men  use  when  they  turn  bewildered  and  march  away,  leav- 
ing the  best  of  their  lives  behind  them. 

So  shutting  his  eyes  Ralph  plunged  headlong  into  the 
green  glades  of  the  Kenside  and  looked  no  more.  Winsome 
walked  slowly  and  sedately  back,  not  looking  on  the  world 
any  more,  but  only  twining  and  pulling  roughly  the  strings 
of  her  sunbonnet  till  one  came  off.  Winsome  threw  it  on 
the  grass.  What  did  it  matter  now  ?  She  would  wear  it 
no  longer.  There  was  none  to  cherish  the  lilac  sunbonnet 
any  more. 


240  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

OVER   THE    HILLS   AND    FAR    AWA'. 

Winsome  came  buck  to  a  quiet  Craig  Eonald.  The  men 
were  in  the  field.  The  farmsteading  was  hushed,  Meg  not 
to  be  seen,  the  dogs  silent,  the  bedroom  blind  undrawn  when 
she  entered  to  find  the  key  in  the  door.  She  went  within 
instantly  and  threw  herself  down  upon  the  bed.  Outside, 
the  morning  sun  strengthened  and  beat  on  the  shining 
white  of  the  walls  of  Craig  Ronald,  and  on  Ralph  far  across 
the  mooi's. 

Winsome  must  wait.  We  shall  follow  Ralph.  It  is  the 
way  of  the  world  at  any  rate.  The  woman  always  must  wait 
and  nothing  said.  With  the  man  are  the  keen  interests  of 
the  struggle,  the  grip  of  opposition,  the  clash  of  arms.  With 
the  woman,  naught  worth  speaking  of — only  the  silence,  the 
loneliness,  and  waiting. 

Ralph  went  northward  wearing  Winsome's  parting  kiss 
on  his  brow  like  an  insignia  of  knighthood.  It  meant  much 
to  one  who  had  never  gone  away  before.  So  simple  was 
he  that  he  did  not  know  that  there  are  all-experiencing 
young  men  who  love  and  sail  away,  clearing  as  they  go  the 
decks  of  their  custom-staled  souls  for  the  next  action. 

He  stumbled,  this  simple  knight,  blindly  into  the  ruts 
and  pebbly  water  courses  down  which  the  winter  rains  had 
rushed,  tearing  the  turf  clean  from  the  granite  during  the 
November  and  February  rains. 

So  he  journeyed  onward,  heedless  of  his  going. 

To  him  came  Jock  Gordon,  skipping  like  a  wild  goat 
down  the  Bennan  side. 

"  Hey,  mon,  d'ye  want  to  drive  intil  Loch  Ken  ?  Ye  wad 
mak'  braw  ged-bait.     Hand  up  the  hill,  breest  to  the  brae." 

Through   his    trouble    Ralph    heard    and   instinctively 


OVER  THE   HILLS  AND   FAR   AWA'.  241 

obeyed.  In  a  little  while  he  struck  the  beautiful  road  which 
runs  north  and  south  along  the  side  of  the  long  loch  of  Ken. 
Now  there  are  fairer  bowers  in  the  south  sunlands.  There 
are  Highlands  and  Alp-lands  of  sky-piercing  beauty.  But  to 
Galloway,  and  specially  to  the  central  glens  and  flanking 
desolations  thereof,  one  beauty  belongs.  She  is  like  a  plain 
girl  with  beautiful  eyes.  There  is  no  country  like  her  in 
the  world  for  colour — so  delicately  fresh  in  the  rain-washed 
green  of  her  pasture  slopes,  so  keen  the  viridian  *  of  her 
turnip-fields  when  the  dew  is  on  the  broad,  fleshy,  crushed 
leaves,  so  tender  and  deep  the  blue  in  the  hollow  places.  It 
was  small  wonder  that  Ralph  had  set  down  in  the  note-book 
in  which  he  sketched  for  future  use  all  that  passed  under 
his  eye : 

"  Hast  thou  seen  the  glamour  that  follows 

The  falling  of  summer  rain — 
The  mystical  blues  in  the  hollows. 

The  purples  and  greys  on  the  plain  ?" 

It  is  true  that  all  these  things  were  but  the  idle  garniture 
of  a  tale  that  had  lost  its  meaning  to  Ralph  this  morning  ; 
but  yet  in  time  the  sense  that  the  beauty  and  hope  of  life 
lay  about  him  stole  soothingly  upon  his  soul.  He  was  glad 
to  breathe  the  gracious  breaths  of  sj)raying  honeysuckle 
running  its  creamy  riot  of  honey-drenched  petals  over  the 
hedges,  and  flinging  daring  reconnaissances  even  to  the  tops 
of  the  dwarf  birches  by  the  wayside. 

So  quickly  Nature  eased  his  smart,  that — for  such  is  the 
nature  of  the  best  men,  even  of  the  very  best — at  the  mo- 
ment when  Winsome  threw  herself,  dazed  and  blinded  with 
pain,  upon  her  low  white  bed  in  the  little  darkened  chamber 
over  the  hill  at  Craig  Ronald,  Ralph  was  once  more,  even 
though  with  the  gnaw  of  emptiness  and  loss  in  his  heart, 

*  Veronese  green. 


242  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

looking  forward  to  the  future,  and  planning  what  the  day 
would  bring  to  him  on  which  he  should  return. 

Even  as  he  thought  he  began  to  whistle,  and  his  step 
went  lighter,  Jock  Gordon  moving  silently  along  the 
heather  by  his  side  at  a  dog's  trot.  Let  no  man  think 
hardly  of  Ralph,  for  this  is  the  nature  of  the  man.  It  was 
not  that  man  loves  the  less,  but  tliat  with  him  in  his  dar- 
ing initiative  and  strenuous  endeavour  the  future  lies. 

The  sooner,  then,  that  he  could  compass  and  overpass 
his  difficulties  the  more  swiftly  would  his  face  be  again  set 
to  the  south,  and  the  aching  emptiness  of  his  soul  be  filled 
with  a  strange  and  thrilling  expectancy.  The  wind  whistled 
in  his  face  as  *he  rounded  the  Bennan  and  got  his  first 
glimpse  of  the  Kells  range,  stretching  far  away  over  surge 
after  surge  of  heather  and  bent,  through  which,  here  and 
there,  the  grey  teeth  of  the  granite  shone.  It  is  no 
blame  to  him  that,  as  he  passed  on  from  horizon  to  horizon, 
each  step  which  took  him  farther  and  farther  from  Craig 
Eonald  seemed  to  bring  him  nearer  and  nearer  to  Winsome. 
He  was  going  away,  yet  with  each  mile  he  regained  the 
rebounding  spirit  of  youth,  while  Winsome  lay  dazed  in  her 
room  at  Craig  Ronald.  But  let  it  not  be  forgotten  that  he 
went  in  order  that  no  more  she  might  so  lie  with  the  dry 
mechanic  sobs  catching  ever  and  anon  in  her  throat.  So 
the  world  is  not  so  ill  divided,  after  all.  And,  being  a 
woman,  perhaps  Winsome's  grief  was  as  dear  and  natural  to 
her  as  Ralph's  elastic  hopefulness. 

Soon  Ralph  and  Jock  Gordon  were  striding  across  the 
moors  towards  Moniaive.  Ralph  wished  to  breakfast  at 
one  of  the  inns  in  New  Galloway,  but  this  Jock  Gordon 
would  not  allow.  He  did  not  like  that  kind  o'  folk,  he 
said. 

"  Gie's  tippens,  an'  that'll  serve  brawly,"  said  Jock. 

Ralph  drew  out  Winsome's  purse ;  he  looked  at  it  rever- 


OVER  THE  HILLS   AND   FAR  AWA'.  2-13 

ently  and  put  it  back  again.  It  seemed  too  early,  and  too 
material  a  use  of  her  love-token. 

"Nae  sillar  in't?"  queried  Jock.  "How's  that?  It 
looks  brave  and  baggy." 

"  I  think  I  will  do  without  for  the  present,"  said  Ralph. 

"  Aweel,"  said  Jock,  "  ye  may,  but  I'm  gaun  to  hae  my 
breakfast  a'  the  same,  sillar  or  no  sillar." 

In  twenty  minutes  he  was  back  by  the  dykeside,  where 
he  had  left  Ralph  sitting,  twining  Winsome's  purse  through 
his  fingers,  and  thinking  on  the  future,  and  all  that  was 
awaiting  him  in  Edinburgh  town. 

Jock  seemed  what  he  had  called  Winsome's  purse — 
baggy. 

Then  he  undid  himself.  From  under  the  lower  buttons 
of  his  long  russet  "  sleeved  waistcoat  "  with  the  long  side 
flaps  which,  along  with  his  sailor-man's  trousers,  he  wore 
for  all  garment,  he  drew  a  barn-door  fowl,  trussed  and 
cooked,  and  threw  it  on  the  ground.  Now  came  a  dozen 
farles  of  cake,  crisp  and  toothsome,  from  the  girdle,  and 
three  large  scones  raised  with  yeast. 

Then  followed,  out  of  some  receptacle  not  too  strictly  to 
be  localized,  half  a  pound  of  butter,  wrapped  in  a  cabbage- 
leaf,  and  a  quart  jug  of  pewter. 

Ralph  looked  on  in  amazement. 

"  Where  did  you  get  all  these  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Get  them?  Took  them  !  "  said  Jock  succinctly.  "I 
gaed  alang  to  Mistress  MacMorrine's,  an'  says  I,  '  Guid- 
mornin'  till  ye,  mistress,  an'  hoo's  a'  wi'  ye  the  day  ? '  for 
I'm  a  ceevil  chiel  when  folks  are  ceevil  to  me." 

" '  Nane  the  better  for  seein'  you,  Jock  Gordon,'  says 
she,  for  she's  an  unceevil  wife,  wi'  nae  mair  mainners  nor 
gin  she  had  just  come  ower  frae  Donuachadee — the  ill- 
mainnered  randy. 

"  '  But,'  says  I,  '  maybes  ye  wad  be  the  better  o'  kennin' 


244  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

that  the  kye's  eatin'  your  washin'  up  on  the  loan.  I  saw- 
Provost  Weir's  muckle  Ayreshire  halfway  through  wi'  yer 
best  quilt,'  says  I. 

"  She  flung  up  her  hands. 

" '  Save  us ! '  she  cries ;  '  could  ye  no  hae  said  that  at 
first?' 

"  An'  wi'  that  she  ran  as  if  Auld  Ilornie  was  at  her  tail, 
scree vin'  ower  the  kintra  as  though  she  didna  gar  the  beam 
kick  at  twa  hunderweicht  guid." 

"But  was  that  true,  Jock  Gordon?"  asked  Ealph, 
astounded, 

"  True ! — what  for  wad  it  be  true?  Her  washin'  is  lyin' 
bleachin',  fine  an'  siccar,  but  she  get  a  look  at  it  and  a 
braw  sweet.  A  race  is  guid  exercise  for  ony  yin  that  sits  as 
muckle  as  Luckie  MacMorrine." 

"  But  the  provisions — and  the  hen  ?  "  asked  Ralph,  fear- 
ing the  worst. 

"  They  were  on  her  back-kitchen  table.  There  they 
are  noo,"  said  Jock,  pointing  with  his  foot,  as  though  that 
was  all  there  was  to  say  about  the  matter. 

"  But  did  you  pay  for  them  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Pay  for  them !  Does  a  dowg  pay  for  a  sheep's  held 
when  he  gangs  oot  o'  the  butcher's  shop  wi'  yin  atween  his 
teeth,  an'  a  twa-pund  w^echt  playin'  dirl  on  his  hench-bane? 
Pay  for't !  Weel,  I  wat  no !  Didna  yer  honour  tell  me 
that  ye  had  nae  sillar,  an'  sae  gaed  it  in  hand  to  Jock? " 

Ralph  started  up.  This  might  be  a  very  serious  matter. 
He  pulled  out  Winsome's  purse  again.  In  the  end  he  tried 
first  there  was  silver,  and  in  the  other  five  golden  guineas 
in  a  little  silken  inner  case.  One  of  the  guineas  Ralph 
took  out,  and,  handing  it  to  Jock,  he  bade  him  gather  up 
all  that  he  had  stolen  and  take  his  way  back  with  them. 
Then  he  was  to  buy  them  from  Luckie  MacMorrine  at  her 
own  price. 


OVER  THE   HILLS  AND   FAR  AWA'.  245 

"  Sic  a  noise  aboot  a  bit  trifle  !  "  said  Jock.  "  What's 
aboot  a  bit  chuckie  an'  a  heftin'  o'  cake  ?    Haivers  !  " 

But  very  quickly  Ralph  prevailed  upon  him,  and  Jock 
took  the  guinea.  At  his  usual  swift  wolf's  lope  he  was  out 
of  sight  over  the  long  stretches  of  heather  and  turf  so 
speedily  that  he  arrived  at  the  drying-ground  on  the  hill- 
side before  Luckie  MacMorrine,  handicapped  by  her  twenty 
stone  avoirdupois,  had  perspired  thither. 

Jock  met  her  at  the  gate. 

"Noo,  mistress,"  exclaimed  Jock,  busily  smoothing  out 
the  wrinkles  and  creases  of  a  fine  linen  sheet,  with 
"  E.  M.  M."  on  the  corner,  "d'ye  see  this?  I  juist  gat  here 
in  time,  and  nae  mair.  Ye  see,  thae  randies  o'  kye,  wi' 
their  birses  up,  they  wad  sune  hae  seen  the  last  o'  yer  bonny 
sheets  an'  blankets,  gin  I  had  letten  them." 

Mistress  MacMorrine  did  not  waste  a  look  on  the  herd 
of  cows,  but  proceeded  to  go  over  her  washing  with  great 
care.  Jock  had  just  arrived  in  time  to  make  hay  of  it, 
before  the  owner  came  puffing  up  the  road.  Had  she 
looked  at  the  cows  curiously  it  might  have  struck  her  that 
they  were  marvellously  calm  for  such  ferocious  animals. 
This  seemed  to  strike  Jock,  for  he  went  after  them,  throw- 
ing stones  at  them  in  the  manner  known  as  "  henchin' " 
[jerking  from  the  side],  much  practised  in  Galloway,  and 
at  which  Jock  was  a  remarkable  adept.  Soon  he  had  them 
excited  enough  for  anything,  and  pursued  them  with  many 
loud  outcryings  till  they  were  scattered  far  over  the  moor. 

When  he  came  back  he  said :  "  Mistress  MacMorrine,  I 
ken  brawly  that  ye'll  be  wushin'  to  mak'  me  some  sma' 
recompense  for  my  trouble  an'  haste.  Weel,  I'll  juist  open 
my  errand  to  ye.  Ye  see  the  way  o't  was  this  :  There  is  twa 
gentlemen  shooters  on  the  moors,  the  Laird  o'  Balblothe- 
rum  an'  the  Laird  o'  Glower-ower-'em — twa  respectit  an' 
graund  gentlemen.     They  war  wantin'  some  luncheon,  but 


246  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

they  were  that  busy  shootin'  that  they  hadna  time  to  come, 
so  they  says  to  me,  '  Jock  Gordon,  do  ye  ken  an  honest 
woman  in  this  neighbourhood  that  can  supply  something  to 
eat  at  a  reasonable  chairge  ? '  '  Yes,'  says  I,  '  Mistress  Mac- 
Morrine  is  sic  a  woman,  an'  nae  ither.'  '  Do  ye  think  she 
could  pit  us  up  for  ten  days  or  a  fortnight  ? '  says  they.  '  I 
doot  na',  for  she's  weel  plenisht  an'  providit,'  I  says.  Noo, 
I  didua  ken  but  ye  micht  be  a  lang  time  detained  wi'  the 
kye  (as  indeed  ye  wad  hae  been,  gin  I  hadna  come  to  help 
ye),  an'  as  the  lairds  couldna  be  keepit,  I  juist  took  up  the 
bit  luncheon  that  I  saw  on  your  kitchie  table,  ah'  here  it 
is,  on  its  way  to  the  wames  o'  the  gentlemen — whilk  is  an 
honour  till't." 

Mistress  MacMorrine  did  not  seem  to  be  very  well  pleased 
at  the  unceremonious  way  in  which  Jock  had  dealt  with  the 
contents  of  her  larder,  but  the  inducement  was  too  great  to 
be  gainsaid. 

"  Ye'll  raak'  it  reasonable,  nae  doot,"  said  Jock,  "  sae  as 
to  gie  the  gentlemen  a  good  impression.  There's  a'  thing 
in  a  first  impression." 

"  Tak'  it  till  them  an'  welcome — wi'  the  compliments  o' 
Mrs.  MacMorrine  o'  the  Blue  Bell,  mind  an'  say  till  them. 
Ye  may  consider  it  a  recognition  o'  yer  ain  trouble  in  the 
matter  o'  the  kye ;  but  I  will  let  the  provost  hear  o't  on  the 
deafest  side  o'  his  heid  when  he  ca's  for  his  toddy  the 
nicht." 

"  Thank  ye,  mistress,"  said  Jock,  quickly  withdrawing 
with  his  purchases ;  "  there's  nocht  like  obleegements  for 
makin'  freends." 

At  last  Ralph  saw  Jock  coming  at  full  speed  over  the 
moor. 

He  went  forward  to  him  anxiously. 

"Is  it  all  right?"  he  asked. 

"  It's  a'  richt,  an'  a'  paid  for,  an'  mair,  gin  ye  like  to 


UNDER  THE  RED  HEATHER.         247 

send  Jock  f or't ;  an'  I  wasna  to  forget  Mistress  MacMor- 
rine's  compliments  to  ye  intil  the  bargain." 

Ealph  looked  mystified. 

"  Ye  wadna  see  the  Laird  o'  Balbletherum ?  Did  ye?" 
said  Jock,  cocking  his  impudent,  elvish  head  to  the  side. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Ralph. 

"  Nor  yet  the  Laird  o'  Glower-ower-'em?  " 

"  I  have  seen  nobody  from  the  time  you  went  away," 
said  Ralph, 

"  Then  we'll  e'en  fa'  to.  For  gin  thae  twa  braw  gentle- 
men arena  here  to  partake  o'  the  guid  things  o'  this  life, 
then  there's  the  mair  for  you  an'  Jock  Gordon." 

Jock  never  fully  satisfied  Ralph's  curiosity  as  to  the 
manner  in  which  he  obtained  this  provender.  Luckie 
Morrine  bestowed  it  upon  him  for  services  rendered,  he 
said ;  which  was  a  true,  though  somewhat  abbreviated  and 
imperfect  account  of  the  transaction. 

What  the  feelings  of  the  hostess  of  the  Blue  Bell  were 
when  night  passed  without  the  appearance  of  the  two 
lairds,  for  whom  she  had  spread  her  finest  sheets,  and 
looked  out  her  best  bottles  of  wine,  we  have  no  means  of 
knowing.  Singularly  enough,  for  some  considerable  time 
thereafter  Jock  patronized  the  "  Cross  Keys "  when  he 
happened  to  be  passing  that  way.  He  "  preferred  it  to  the 
Blue  Bell,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIL 

UNDER   THE    RED    HEATHER. 


So  refreshed,  Ralph  and  Jock  passed  on  their  way.  All 
the  forenoon  they  plodded  steadily  forward.  From  Moni- 
aive  they  followed  the  windings  of  a  flashing  burn,  dashing 


248  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

and  roaring  in  a  shallow  linn,  here  and  there  white  with 
foam  and  fretting,  and  again  dimpling  black  in  some  deep 
and  quiet  pool.  Through  the  ducal  village  of  Thornhill 
and  so  northward  along  the  Nithside  towards  the  valley  of 
the  Menick  they  went.  The  great  overlapping  purple  folds 
of  the  hills  drew  down  about  these  two  as  they  passed. 
Jock  Grordon  continually  scoured  away  to  either  side  like  a 
dog  fresh  off  the  leash.  Ealph  kept  steadily  before  him  the 
hope  in  his  heart  that  before  long  the  deep  cleft  would  be 
filled  up  and  that  for  always. 

It  so  happened  that  it  was  night  when  they  reached  the 
high  summit  of  the  Leadhills  and  the  village  of  Wanlock- 
Head  gleamed  grey  beneath  them.  Ralph  proposed  to  go 
down  and  get  lodgings  there ;  but  Jock  had  other  inten- 
tions. 

"  What  for,"  he  argued,  "  what  for  should  ye  pay  for  the 
breadth  of  yer  back  to  lie  doon  on?  Jock  Gordon  wull 
mak'  ye  juist  as  comfortable  ablow  a  heather  buss  as  ever  ye 
war  in  a  bed  in  the  manse.     Bide  a  wee  !  " 

Jock  took  him  into  a  sheltered  little  "  hope,"  where  they 
were  shut  in  from  the  world  of  sheep  and  pit-heads. 

With  his  long,  broad-bladed  sheath-knife  Jock  was  not 
long  in  piling  under  the  sheltered  underside  of  a  great  rock 
over  which  the  heather  grew,  such  a  heap  of  heather  twigs 
as  Ealph  could  hardly  believe  had  been  cut  in  so  short  a 
time.  These  he  compacted  into  an  excellent  mattress, 
springy  and  level,  with  pliable  interlacings  of  broom. 

"  Lie  ye  doon  there,  an'  I'll  mak'  ye  a  bonnie  plaidie," 
said  Jock. 

There  was  a  little  "  cole  "  or  haystack  of  the  smallest  sort 
close  at  hand.  To  this  Jock  went,  and,  throwing  off  the  top 
layer  as  possibly  damp,  he  carried  all  the  rest  in  his  arms  and 
piled  it  on  Ralph  till  he  was  covered  up  to  his  neck. 

"  We'll  mak'  a'  snod   [neat]  again  i'  the  mornin' !  "  he 


UNDER  THE  RED  HEATHER.         249 

said.  "  Noo,  we'll  theek  [thatch]  ye,  an'  feed  ye  ! "  said  Jock 
comprehensively.  So  saying,  he  put  other  layers  of  heather, 
thinner  than  the  mattress  underneath,  but  arranged  in  the 
same  way,  on  the  top  of  the  hay. 

"  Noo  ye're  braw  an'  snug,  are  ye  na'  ?  What  better  wad 
ye  hae  been  in  a  three-shillin'  bed  ?  " 

Then  Jock  made  a  fire  of  broken  last  year's  heather. 
This  he  carefully  watched  to  keep  it  from  spreading,  and  on 
it  he  roasted  half  a  dozen  plover's  eggs  which  he  had  picked 
up  during  the  day  in  his  hillside  ranging.  On  these  high 
moors  the  moor-fowls  go  on  laying  till  August.  These  being 
served  on  warmed  and  buttered  scones,  and  sharpened  with 
a  whiff  of  mordant  heather  smoke,  were  most  delicious  to 
Ealph,  who  smiled  to  himself,  well  pleased  under  his  warm 
covering  of  hay  and  overthatching  of  heather. 

After  each  egg  was  supplied  to  him  piping  hot,  Jock 
would  say  : 

"An'  isna  that  as  guid  as  a  half-croon  supper  ?  " 

Then  another  pee-wit's  egg,  delicious  and  fresh — 

"  Luckie  Morrine  couldna  beat  that,"  said  Jock. 

There  was  a  surprising  lightness  in  the  evening  air,  the 
elastic  life  of  the  wide  moorland  world  settling  down  to  rest 
for  a  couple  of  hours,  which  is  all  the  night  there  is  on  these 
hill-tops  in  the  crown  of  the  year. 

Jock  Gordon  covered  himself  by  no  means  so  elaborately 
as  he  had  provided  for  Ralph,  saying  :  "  I  hae  covered  you 
for  winter,  for  ye're  but  a  laddie ;  the  like  o'  me  disna  need 
coverin'  when  the  days  follow  yin  anither  like  sheep  jumpin' 
through  a  slap." 

Ralph  was  still  asleep  when  the  morning  came.  But 
when  the  young  sun  looked  over  the  level  moors — for  thoy 
were  on  the  very  top  of  the  heathery  creation — Jock  Gordon 
made  a  little  hillock  of  dewy  heather  to  shelter  Ralph  from 
the  sun.    He  measured  at  the  same  time  a  hand's  breadth  in 


250  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

the  sky,  saying  to  himself,  "  I'll  wakken  the  lad  when  he 
gets  to  there  !  "     He  was  speaking  of  the  sun. 

But  before  the  flood  of  light  overtopped  the  tiny  break- 
water and  shot  again  upon  Ralph's  face,  he  sat  up  bewil- 
dered and  astonished,  casting  a  look  about  him  upon  the 
moorland  and  its  crying  birds. 

Jock  Gordon  was  just  coming  towards  him,  having 
scoured  the  face  of  the  ridge  for  more  plover's  eggs. 

"  Dinna  rise,"  said  Jock,  "  till  I  tak'  awa'  the  beddin'. 
Ye  see,"  continued  the  expert  in  camping  out  on  hills, 
"  the  hay  an'  the  heather  gets  doon  yer  neck  an'  mak's  ye 
yeuk  [itch]  an'  fidge  a'  day.  An'  at  first  ye  mind  that, 
though  after  a  while  gin  ye  dinna  yeuk,  ye  find  it  michty 
oninterestin' ! " 

Ealph  sat  up.  Something  in  Jock's  bare  heel  as  he  sat 
on  the  grass  attracted  his  attention. 

"  Wi',  Jock,"  he  said,  infinitely  astonished,  "  what's  that 
in  yer  heel  ?  " 

"  On  !  "  said  Jock,  "  it's  nocht  but  a  nail !  " 

"  A  nail !  "  said  Ralph  ;  "  what  are  ye  doin'  wi'  a  nail  in 
yer  foot '? " 

"  I  gat  it  in  last  Martinmas,"  he  said. 

"  But  why  do  you  not  get  it  out  ?  Does  it  not  hurt  ?  " 
said  Ralph,  compassionating. 

"  'Deed  did  it  awhile  at  the  first,"  said  Jock,  "  but  I  got 
used  to  it.  Ye  can  use  wi'  a'thing.  Man's  a  wunnerful 
craitur ! " 

"  Let  mo  try  to  pull  it  out,"  said  Ralph,  shivering  to 
think  of  the  pain  he  must  have  suffered. 

"  Na,  na,  ye  ken  what  ye  hae,  but  ye  dinna  ken  what  ye 
micht  get.  I  ken  what  I  hae  to  pit  up  wi',  wi'  a  nail  in  my 
fit ;  but  wha  kens  what  it  micht  be  gin  I  had  a  muckle  hole 
ye  could  pit  yer  finger  in  ?  It  wadna  be  bonny  to  hae  the 
clocks  howkin'  [beetles  digging]   and  the  birdies  biggin' 


UNDER  THE  RED  HEATHER.         251 

tlieir  nests  i'  my  heel !  Na,  na,  it's  a  guid  lesson  to  be  con- 
tent wi'  yer  doou-settin',  or  ye  may  get  waur  !  " 

It  was  in  the  bright  morning  light  that  these  two  took 
the  Edinburgh  road,  which  clambered  down  over  the  hill- 
sides by  the  village  of  Leadhills  into  the  valley  of  the 
Clyde.  Through  Abingdon  and  Biggar  they  made  their 
way,  and  so  admirable  were  Jock's  requisitioning  abilities 
that  Winsome's  green  purse  was  never  once  called  into 
action. 

When  they  looked  from  the  last  downward  step  of  the 
Mid-Lothian  table-land  upon  the  city  of  Edinburgh,  there 
was  a  brisk  starting  of  smoke  from  many  chimneys,  for  the 
wives  of  the  burgesses  were  kindling  their  supper  fires,  and 
tlieir  husbands  were  beginning  to  come  in  with  the  ex- 
pectant look  of  mankind  about  meal-time. 

"  Come  wi'  me,  Jock,  and  I'll  show  ye  Edinburgh,  as  ye 
have  showed  me  the  hills  of  heather  !  "  This  was  Ealph's 
invitation. 

"  Na,"  said  Jock,  "  an'  thank  ye  kindly  a'  the  same. 
There's  muckle  loons  there  that  micht  snap  up  a  guid-look- 
iu'  lad  like  Jock,  an'  ship  him  ontill  their  nesty  ships  afore 
he  could  cry  '  Mulquarchar  and  Craignell ! '  Jock  Gordon 
may  be  a  f ule,  but  he  kens  when  he's  weel  aff.  Nae  Auld 
Reekies  for  him,  an'  thank  ye  kindly.  When  he  wants  to 
gang  to  the  gaol  he'll  steal  a  horse  an'  gang  daicent !  He'll 
no  gang  wi'  his  thoom  in  his  mooth,  an'  when  they  say  till 
him,  '  What  are  ye  here  for  ? '  be  obleeged  to  answer,  '  Fegs, 
an'  I  dinna  ken  what  for  ! '  Na,  na,  it  wadna  be  mensefu' 
like  ava'.  A'  the  Gordons  that  ever  was  hae  gaen  to  the 
gaol — but  only  yince.  It's  aye  been  a  hangin'  maitter,  an' 
Jock's  no  the  man  to  turn  again  the  rule  an'  custom  o'  liis 
forebears.     '  Yince  gang,  yince  hang,'  is  Jock's  motto." 

Ralph  did  not  press  the  point.  But  he  had  some  unex- 
pected feeling  in  saying  good-bye  to  Jock.     It  was  not  so 


252  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

easy.  He  tried  to  put  three  of  Winsome's  guineas  into  his 
hand,  but  Jock  would  have  none  of  them. 

"J/c  wi'  gowden  guineas  !  "  he  said.  "  Surely  ye  maun  hae 
an  ill-wull  at  puir  Jock,  that  wusses  ye  weel ;  what  wad  ony 
body  say  gin  I  poo'ed  out  sic  a  lump  of  gowd?  'There's 
that  loon  Jock  been  breakiu'  somebod3''s  bank,'  an'  then 
'  Fare-ye-weel,  Kilaivie,'  to  Jock's  guid  name.  It's  gane, 
like  his  last  gless  o'  whusky,  never  to  return." 

"  But  you  are  a  long  way  from  home,  Jock ;  how  will  you 
get  back  ?  " 

"  Hoots,  haivers,  Maister  Ealph,  gin  Jock  has  providit 
for  you  that  needs  a'  things  as  gin  ye  war  in  a  graund  hoose, 
dinna  be  feared  for  Jock,  that  can  eat  a  wamefu'  o'  green 
heather-taps  wi'  the  dew  on  them  like  a  bit  flafferin'  grouse 
bird.  Or  Jock  can  catch  the  muir-fowl  itsel'  an'  eat  it 
ablow  a  heather  buss  as  gin  he  war  a  tod  [fox].  Hoot  awa' 
wi'  ye !  Jock  can  fend  for  himsel'  brawly.  Sillar  wad  only 
tak'  the  edge  aff  his  genius." 

"  Then  is  there  nothing  that  I  can  bring  you  from 
Edinburgh  when  I  come  again? "said  Ealph,  with  whom 
the  coming  again  was  ever  present. 

"  'Deed,  aye,  gin  ye  are  so  ceevil — it's  richt  prood  I  wad  be 
o'  a  boxf u'  o'  Maister  Cotton's  Dutch  sneeshin' — him  that's 
i'  the  High  Street — they  say  it's  terrible  graund  stuff.  Wullie 
Hulliby  gat  some  when  he  was  up  wi'  his  lambs,  an'  he  said 
that,  after  the  first  snifter,  he  grat  for  days.  It  maun  be 
graund  ! " 

Ralph  promised,  with  gladness  to  find  some  way  of  easing 
his  load  of  debt  to  Jock. 

"  Noo,  Maister  Ealph,  it's  a  wanchancy  [uncertain]  place, 
this  Enbra',  an'  I'll  stap  aff  an'  on  till  the  morrow's  e'en 
here  or  hereaboots,  for  sae  it  micht  be  that  ye  took  a  notion 
to  gang  back  amang  kent  fowk,  wliaur  ye  wad  be  safe  an' 
soun'." 


BEFORE  THE  REFORMER'S  CHAIR.  253 

"  But,  Jock,"  urged  Ealph,  "  ye  need  not  do  that.  I  was 
born  and  brought  up  in  Edinburgh  !  " 

"  That's  as  may  be  ;  gin  I  bena  mista'en,  there's  a  byous 
[extraordinary]  heap  o'  things  has  happened  since  then. 
Gang  yer  ways,  but  gin  ye  hae  message  or  word  for  Jock, 
juist  come  cannily  oot,  an'  he'll  be  here  till  dark  the  morn." 


CHAPTEE  XXXVIII. 

BEFORE   THE    REFORMER'S    CHAIR. 

"  The  Lord  save  us,  Maister  Kalph,  what's  this  ?  "  said 
John  Bairdieson,  opening  the  door  of  the  stair  in  James's 
Court.  It  was  a  narrow  hall  that  it  gave  access  to,  more 
like  a  passage  than  a  hall.  "Hoo  hae  ye  come  ?  An'  what 
for  didna  Maister  Welsh  or  you  write  to  say  ye  war  comiii'  ? 
An' whaur's  a'  the  bulks  an'  the  gear?"  continued  John 
Bairdieson. 

"  I  have  walked  all  the  way,  John,"  said  Ealph,  "  I 
quarrelled  with  the  minister,  and  he  turned  me  to  the 
door." 

"  Dear  sirce  !  "  said  John  anxiously,  "  was't  ill-doing  or 
unsound  doctrine  ?" 

"  Mr.  Welsh  said  that  he  could  not  company  with  un- 
believers." 

"  Then  it's  doctrine — wae's  me,  wae's  me  !  I  wuss  it  had 
been  the  lasses.  What  wuU  his  faither  say  ?  Gin  it  had  been 
ill-doin',  he  micht  hae  pitten  it  doou  to  the  sins  o'  yer 
youth  ;  but  ill-doctrine  he  canna  forgie.  0  Maister  Ealph, 
gin  ye  canna  tell  a  lee  yersel',  wull  ye  no  baud  yer  tongue 
— I  can  lee,  for  I'm  but  an  elder — an'  I'll  tell  him  that  at 
a  kirn  [harvest  festival]  ye  war  persuaded  to  drink  the 
17 


25i  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

health  o'  the  laird,  an'  you  no  bein'  acqiianc  wi'  the  strength 
o'  Glenlivat " 

"  John,  John,  indeed  I  cannot  allow  it.  Besides,  you're 
a  sailor-man,  an'  even  in  Galloway  they  do  not  have  kirns 
till  the  corn's  ripe,"  replied  Ealph  with  a  smile. 

"  Aweel,  can  ye  no  say,  or  let  me  say  for  ye,  gin  ye  be 
particular,  that  ye  war  a  wee  late  oot  at  nicht  seeiu'  a  bit 
lassie — or  ocht  but  the  doctrine  ?  It  wasna  anything  con- 
cernin'  the  fundamentals  o'  the  Marrow,  Maister  Ralj^h, 
though,  surely,"  continued  John  Bairdieson,  whose  elect 
position  did  not  prevent  him  from  doing  his  best  for  the 
interests  of  his  masters,  young  and  old.  Indeed,  to  start 
with  the  acknowledged  fact  of  personal  election  sometimes 
gives  a  man  like  John  Bairdieson  an  unmistakable  advan- 
tage. Ralph  went  to  his  own  room,  leaving  John  Bairdie- 
son listening,  as  he  prayed  to  be  allowed  to  do,  at  the  door  of 
his  father's  room. 

In  a  minute  or  two  John  Bairdieson  came  up,  with  a 
scared  face. 

"  Ye're  to  gang  doon,  Maister  Ealph,  an'  see  yer  faither. 
But,  0  sir,  see  that  ye  speak  lown  [calm]  to  him.  He  hasna 
gotten  sleep  for  twa  nichts,  an'  he's  fair  pitten  by  himsel' 
wi'  thae  ill-set  Conformists — weary  fa'  them !  that  he's  been 
in  the  gall  o'  bitterness  wi'." 

Ralph  went  down  to  his  father's  study.  Knocking  softly, 
he  entered.  Ilis  father  sat  in  his  desk  chair,  closed  in  on 
every  side.  It  had  once  been  the  pulpit  of  a  great  Reformer, 
and  each  time  that  Gilbert  Peden  shut  himself  into  it,  he 
felt  that  he  was  without  father  or  mother  save  and  except 
the  only  true  and  proper  Covenant-keeping  doctrine  in 
broad  Scotland,  and  the  honour  and  well-being  of  the  sorely 
dwindled  Kirk  of  the  Marrow. 

Gilbert  Peden  was  a  noble  make  of  a  man,  larger  in 
body  though  hardly  taller  than  his  son.     He  wore  a  dark- 


BEFORE  TEE  REFORMER'S  CHAIR.  255 

blue  cloth  coat  with  wide  flaps,  and  the  immense  white 
neckerchief  on  which  John  Bairdieson  weekly  expended  all 
his  sailor  laundry  craft.  His  face  was  like  his  son's,  as  clear- 
cut  and  statuesque,  though  larger  and  broader  in  frame  and 
mould.  There  was,  however,  a  coldness  about  the  e3'e  and 
a  downward  compression  of  the  lips,  which  speaks  the  man 
of  narrow  though  fervid  enthusiasms. 

Kalph  went  forward  to  his  father.  As  he  came,  his 
father  stayed  him  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  the  finger-tips 
turned  upward. 

"  Abide,  my  son,  till  I  know  for  what  cause  you  have 
left  or  been  expelled  from  the  house  of  the  man  to  whom  I 
committed  you  during  your  trials  for  license.  Answer  me, 
why  have  you  come  away  from  the  house  of  Allan  Welsh 
like  a  thief  in  the  night  ?  " 

"  Father,"  said  llalph,  "  I  cannot  tell  you  everything  at 
present,  because  the  story  is  not  mine  to  tell.  Can  you  not 
trust  me  ?  " 

"  I  could  trust  you  with  my  life  and  all  that  I  possess," 
said  his  father;  "they  are  yours,  and  welcome;  but  this  is 
a  matter  that  affects  your  standing  as  a  probationer  on  trials 
in  the  kirk  of  the  Marrow,  which  is  of  divine  institution. 
The  cause  is  not  mine,  my  son.  Tell  me  that  the  cause  of 
your  quarrel  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  Marrow  kirk  and 
your  future  standing  in  it,  and  I  will  ask  you  no  more 
till  you  choose  to  tell  me  of  your  own  will  concerning  the 
matter." 

The  Marrow  minister  looked  at  his  son  with  a  gleam 
of  tenderness  forcing  its  way  through  the  sternness  of  his 
words. 

But  Ralph  was  silent. 

"  It  was  indeed  in  my  duty  to  the  Marrow  kirk  that  Mr. 
Welsh  considered  that  I  lacked.  It  was  for  this  cause  that 
he  refused  to  company  further  with  me." 


256  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

Then  there  came  a  hardness  as  of  grey  hill  stone  upon 
the  minister's  face.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  see  in 
a  father's  face. 

"  Then,"  he  said  slowly,  "  Ralph  Peden,  this  also  is  a 
manse  of  the  Marrow  kirk,  and,  though  ye  are  my  own 
son,  I  cannot  receive  ye  here  till  your  innocence  is  proven 
in  the  presbytery.     Ye  must  stand  yer  trials." 

Ealph  bowed  his  head.  He  had  not  been  unprepared 
for  something  like  this,  but  the  pain  he  might  have  felt  at 
another  time  was  made  easier  by  a  subtle  anodyne.  He 
hardly  seemed  to  feel  the  smart  as  a  week  before  he  might 
have  done.  In  some  strange  way  Winsome  was  helping 
him  to  bear  it — or  her  prayers  for  him  were  being  an- 
swered. 

John  Bairdieson  broke  into  the  study,  his  grey  hair 
standing  on  end,  and  the  shape  of  the  keyhole  cover  im- 
printed on  his  brow  above  his  left  eye.  John  could  see  best 
with  his  left  eye,  and  hear  best  with  his  right  ear,  which 
he  had  some  reason  to  look  upon  as  a  special  equalization 
of  the  gifts  of  Providence,  though  not  well  adapted  for 
being  of  the  greatest  service  at  keyholes. 

"  Save  us,  minister !"  he  burst  out;  "  the  laddie's  but  a 
laddie,  an'  na  doot  his  pranks  hae  upset  guid  Maister  Welsh 
a  wee.  Lads  will  be  lads,  ye  ken.  But  Maister  Ralph's 
soond  on  the  fundamentals — I  learned  him  the  Shorter 
Questions  mysel',  sae  I  should  ken — forbye  the  hunner  an' 
nineteenth  Psalm  that  he  learned  on  my  knee,  and  how  to 
mak'  a  Fifer's  knot,  an'  the  double  reef,  an'  a  heap  o'  use- 
f u'  knowledge  forbye ;  an'  noo  to  tak'  it  into  your  held  that 
)'er  ain  son's  no  sooud  in  the  faith,  a'  because  he  has  fa'en 
oot  wi'  a  donnert  auld  carle " 

"  John,"  said  the  minister  sternly,  "  leave  the  room ! 
You  have  no  right  to  speak  thus  of  an  honoured  servant  of 
the  kirk  of  the  Marrow." 


BEFORE   THE  REFORMER'S  CHAIR.  257 

Ealpli  could  see  through  the  window  the  light  fading 
off  the  Fife  Lomonds,  and  the  long  line  of  the  shore  dark- 
ening under  the  night  into  a  more  ethereal  blue. 

There  came  to  him  in  this  glimpse  of  woods  and  dewy 
pastures  overseas  a  remembrance  of  a  dearer  shore.  The 
steading  over  the  Grannoch  Loch  stood  up  clear  before  him, 
the  blue  smoke  going  straight  up,  Winsome's  lattice  stand- 
ing open  with  the  roses  peeping  in,  and  the  night  airs 
breathing  lovingly  through  them,  airing  it  out  as  a  bed- 
chamber for  the  beloved. 

The  thought  made  his  heart  tender.  To  his  father  he 
said : 

"  Father,  will  you  not  take  my  word  that  there  is  nothing 
wicked  or  disgraceful  in  what  I  have  done  ?  If  it  were  my 
own  secret,  I  would  gladly  tell  you  at  once ;  but  as  it  is,  I 
must  wait  until  in  his  own  time  Mr.  Welsh  communicates 
with  you." 

The  minister,  sitting  in  the  Eeformer's  seat,  pulling  at 
his  stern  upper  lip,  winced  ;  and  perhaps  had  it  not  been  for 
the  pulpit  the  human  in  him  might  have  triumphed.  But 
he  only  said  : 

"  I  am  quite  prepared  to  support  you  until  such  time 
as  at  a  meeting  of  the  presbytery  the  matter  be  tried,  but 
I  cannot  have  in  a  Marrow  Manse  one  living  under  the 
fama  of  expulsion  from  the  house  of  a  brother  minister  in 
good  standing." 

"  Thank  you,  father,"  said  his  son,  "  for  your  kind  offer, 
but  I  do  not  think  I  shall  need  to  trouble  you." 

And  so  with  these  words  the  young  man  turned  and 
went  out  proudly  from  the  father's  sight,  as  he  had  gone 
from  the  manse  of  the  other  minister  of  the  Marrow  kirk. 

As  he  came  to  the  outside  of  the  door,  leaving  his  father 
sitting  stately  and  stern  in  the  Eeformer's  pulpit,  he  said, 
in  the  deeps  of  his  heart : 


258  THE   LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

"  God  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  I  ever  seek  again 
to  enter  the  Marrow  kirk,  if  so  be  that,  like  my  father,  I 
must  forget  my  humanity  in  order  worthily  to  serve  it ! " 

After  he  had  gone  out,  the  Reverend  Gilbert  Peden  took 
his  Bible  and  read  the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son.  He 
closed  the  great  book,  which  ever  lay  open  before  him,  and 
said,  as  one  who  both  accuses  and  excuses  himself : 

"  But  the  prodigal  son  was  not  under  trials  for  license 
in  the  kirk  of  the  Marrow  !  " 

At  the  door,  John  Bairdieson,  his  hair  more  than  ever  on 
end,  met  Ralph.     He  held  up  his  hands. 

"  It's  an  awf u'-like  thing  to  be  obleegit  to  tell  the  hale 
truth  !  0  man,  couldna  ye  hae  tell't  a  wee  bit  lee  ?  It  wad 
hae  saved  an  awf u'  deal  o'  fash  !  But  it's  ower  late  now ;  ye 
can  juist  bide  i'  the  spare  room  up  the  stair,  an'  come  an' 
gang  by  door  on  the  Castle  Bank,  an'  no  yin  forbye  mysel' 
'ill  be  a  hair  the  wiser.  I,  John  Bairdieson,  '11  Juist  fetch 
up  yer  meals  the  same  as  ordinar'.  Ye'll  be  like  a  laddie 
at  the  mastheid  up  there ;  it'll  be  braw  an'  quate  for  the 
studyin' ! " 

"  John,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind 
thought,"  said  Ralph,  "  but  I  cannot  remain  in  his  house 
against  my  father's  expressed  wish,  and  without  his  knowl- 
edge." 

"  Hear  till  him  !  Whaur  else  should  he  bide  but  in  the 
hoose  that  he  was  born  in,  an'  his  faither  afore  him?  That 
would  be  a  bonny  like  story.  Na,  na,  ye'll  juist  bide,  Mais- 
ter  Ralph,  an' " 

"  I  must  go  this  very  night,"  said  Ralph.  "  You  mean 
well,  John,  but  it  cannot  be.  I  am  goiug  down  to  sec  my 
uncle.  Professor  Thricpneuk." 

"  Leave  yer  faither's  hoose  to  gang  to  that  o'  a  Aveezened 
auld " 

"  John  ! "  said  Ralph,  warningly. 


JEMIMA,  KEZIA,  AND  LITTLE   KEREN-HAPPUCH.    259 

"  He's  nae  uncle  o'  yours,  onygate,  though  he  married 
your  mother's  sister.  Au'  a  sair  life  o't  she  had  wi'  him, 
though  I  doot  na  but  thae  dochters  o'  his  sort  him  to 
richts  noo." 

So,  in  spite  of  John  Bairdieson's  utmost  endeavours,  and 
waiting  only  to  put  his  clothes  together,  Ralph  took  his  way 
over  to  the  Sciennes,  where  his  uncle,  the  professor,  lived 
in  a  new  house  with  his  three  daughters,  Jemima,  Kezia, 
and  Keren-happuch.  The  professor  had  always  been  very 
kind  to  Ralph.  He  was  not  a  Marrow  man,  and  therefore, 
according  to  the  faith  of  his  father,  an  outcast  from  the 
commonwealth.  But  he  was  a  man  of  the  Avorld  of  affairs, 
keen  for  the  welfare  of  his  class  at  the  University  Col- 
lege— a  man  crabbed  and  gnarled  on  the  surface,  but 
within  him  a  strong  vein  of  tenderness  of  the  sort  that 
always  seems  ashamed  of  catching  its  possessor  in  a  kind 
action. 

To  him  Ralph  knew  that  he  could  tell  the  whole  story. 
The  Sciennes  was  on  the  very  edge  of  the  green  fields.  The 
corn-fields  stretched  away  from  the  dyke  of  the  Professor's 
garden  to  the  south  towards  the  red-roofed  village  of  Echo 
Bank  and  the  long  ridge  of  Liberton,  crowned  by  the  square 
tower  on  which  a  stone  dining-room  table  had  been  turned 
up,  its  four  futile  legs  waving  in  the  air  like  a  beetle  overset 
on  its  back. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

JEMIMA,    KEZIA,    AND    LITTLE    KEREN-HAPPUCH. 

Ralph  found  the  professor  out.  He  was,  indeed,  en- 
gaged in  an  acrimonious  discussion  on  the  Wernerian  theo- 
ry, and  at  that  moment  he  was  developing  a  remarkable  sci- 


260  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

entific  passion,  which  threatened  to  sweep  his  adversaries 
from  the  face  of  the  earth  in  the  debris  of  their  heresies. 

Within  doors,  however,  Ealph  found  a  very  warm  wel- 
come from  his  three  cousins — Jemima,  Kezia,  and  Keren- 
happuch.  Jemima  was  tall  and  angular,  with  her  hair 
accurately  parted  in  the  middle,  and  draAvn  in  a  -great 
sweep  over  her  ears — a  fashion  intended  by  Nature  for 
Keren-happuch,  who  was  round  of  face,  and  with  a  com- 
plexion in  which  there  appeared  that  mealy  pink  upon  the 
cheeks  which  is  peculiar  to  the  metropolis.  Kezia  was 
counted  the  beauty  of  the  family,  and  was  much  looked  up 
to  by  her  elder  and  younger  sisters. 

These  three  girls  had  always  made  much  of  Ralph, 
ever  since  he  used  to  play  about  the  many  garrets  and 
rooms  of  their  old  mansion  beneath  the  castle,  before  they 
moved  out  to  the  new  house  at  the  Sciennes.  They  had 
long  been  in  love  with  him,  each  in  her  own  way ;  though 
they  had  always  left  the  first  place  to  Kezia,  and  wove 
romances  in  their  own  heads  with  Ealph  for  the  central 
figure.  Jemima,  especially,  had  been  very  jealous  of  her 
sisters,  who  were  considerably  younger,  and  had  often 
spoken  seriously  to  them  about  flirting  with  Ralph.  It 
was  Jemima  who  came  to  the  door ;  for,  in  those  days,  all 
except  the  very  grandest  persons  thought  no  more  of  open- 
ing the  outer  than  the  inner  doors  of  their  houses, 

"  Ralph  Peden,have  you  actually  remembered  that  there 
is  such  a  house  as  the  Sciennes?"  said  Jemima,  holding  up 
her  face  to  receive  the  cousinly  kiss. 

Ralph  bestowed  it  chastely.  AVhereupon  followed  Kezia 
and  little  Keren-happuch,  who  received  slightly  varied  du- 
plicates. 

Then  the  three  looked  at  one  another.  They  knew  that 
this  Ralph  had  eaten  of  the  tree  of  knowledge. 

"  That  is  not  the  way  you  kissed  us  before  you  went 


JEMIMA,  KEZIA,  AND   LITTLE   KEREN-nAPPUCH.     261 

away,"  said  outspoken  Kezia,  who  had  experience  in  the 
matter  wider  than  that  of  the  others,  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eyes  as  became  a  beauty. 

For  once  Ralph  was  thoroughly  taken  aback,  and  blushed 
richly  and  long. 

Kezia  laughed  as  one  who  enjoyed  his  discomfiture. 

"  I  knew  it  would  come,"  she  said.  "  Is  she  a  milk- 
maid ?  She's  not  the  minister's  daughter,  for  he  is  a  bach- 
elor, you  said ! " 

Jemima  and  Keren-happuch  actually  looked  a  little  re- 
lieved, though  a  good  deal  excited.  They  had  been  standing 
in  the  hall  while  this  conversation  was  running  its  course. 

"  It's  all  nonsense,  Kezia ;  I  am  astonished  at  you  !  "  said 
Jemima. 

"  Come  into  the  sitting-parlour,"  said  Kezia,  taking 
Ealph's  hand  ;  "  we'll  not  one  of  us  bear  any  malice  if  only 
you  tell  us  all  about  it." 

Jemima,  after  severe  consideration,  at  last  looked  in  a 
curious  sidelong  way  to  Ralph. 

"  I  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  you  have  not  done  anything 
hasty." 

"  Tuts  !  "  said  Kezia,  "  I  hope  he  has.  He  was  far  too 
slow  before  he  went  away.  Make  love  in  haste ;  marry  at 
leisure — that's  the  right  way." 

"  Can  I  have  the  essay  that  you  read  us  last  Ajiril,  on 
the  origin  of  woman  ?  "  asked  Keren-happuch  unexpectedly. 
"  You  won't  want  it  any  more,  and  I  should  like  it." 

Even  little  Keren-happuch  had  her  feelings. 

The  three  Misses  Thriepneuks  were  a  little  jealous  of 
one  another  before,  but  already  they  had  forgotten  this 
slight  feeling,  which  indeed  was  no  more  than  the  instinct 
of  proprietorship  which  young  women  come  to  feel  in  one 
who  has  never  been  long  out  of  their  house,  and  with  whom 
they  have  been  brought  up. 


262  TEE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

But  in  the  face  of~  this  new  interest  they  lost  their 
jealousy  of  one  another ;  so  that,  in  place  of  presenting  a 
united  front  to  the  enemy,  these  three  kindly  young  women, 
excited  at  the  mere  hint  of  a  love-story,  vied  with  one  an- 
other which  should  be  foremost  in  interest  and  sympathy. 
The  blush  on  Ralph's  face  spoke  its  own  message,  and  now, 
when  he  was  going  to  speak,  his  three  cousins  sat  round 
with  eager  faces  to  listen. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell,  girls,"  said  Ralph,  "  but  I 
meant  to  tell  it  first  to  my  uncle.  I  have  been  turned  out 
of  the  manse  of  Dullarg,  and  my  father  Avill  not  allow  me 
to  live  in  his  house  till  after  the  meeting  of  the  presby- 
tery." 

This  was  more  serious  than  a  love-story,  and  the  bright 
expression  died  down  into  flickering  uncertainty  in  the  faces 
of  Jemima,  Kezia,  and  Keren-happuch. 

"  It's  not  anything  wrong  ?  "  asked  Jemima,  anxiously. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ralph  quickly,  "  nothing  but  what  I 
have  reason  to  be  proud  enough  of.  It  is  only  a  question  of 
the  doctrines  and  practice  of  the  Marrow  kirk " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  all  three  simultaneously,  with  an  accent  of 
mixed  scorn  and  relief.  The  whole  matter  was  clear  to 
them  now. 

"  And  of  the  right  of  the  synod  of  the  IMarrow  kirk  to 
control  my  actions,"  continued  Ral^^h. 

But  the  further  interest  was  entirely  gone  from  the 
question. 

"  Tell  us  about  Zicr,"  they  said  in  unison. 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  a  '  her  '  ?  "  asked  Ralj)h,  clum- 
sily trying  to  put  off  time,  like  a  man. 

Kezia  laughed  on  her  own  account,  Keren-happuch  be- 
cause Kezia  laughed,  but  Jemima  said  solemnly  : 

"  I  hope  she  is  of  a  serious  disposition." 

"  Nonsense  !     /  hope  she  is  pretty,"  said  Kezia. 


JEMIMA,  KEZIA,  AND  LITTLE  KEREN-HAPPUCn.    2G3 

"  And  /  hope  she  will  love  me,"  said  little  Keren-hap- 
puch. 

Ralph  thought  a  little,  and  then,  as  it  was  growing  dark, 
he  sat  on  the  old  sofa  with  his  back  to  the  fading  day,  and 
told  his  love-story  to  these  three  sweet  girls,  who,  though 
they  had  played  with  him  and  been  all  womanhood  to  him 
ever  since  he  came  out  of  petticoats,  had  not  a  grain  of  jeal- 
ousy of  the  unseen  sister  who  had  come  suddenly  past  them 
and  stepped  into  the  primacy  of  Ealph's  life. 

"When  he  was  half-way  through  with  his  tale  he  sudden- 
ly stopped,  and  said  : 

"  But  I  ought  to  have  told  all  this  first  to  your  father, 
because  he  may  not  care  to  have  me  in  his  house.  There  is 
only  my  word  for  it,  after  all,  and  it  is  the  fact  that  I  have 
not  the  right  to  set  foot  in  my  own  father's  house." 

"  We  will  make  our  father  see  it  in  the  right  way,"  said 
Jemima  quietly. 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Kezia,  "  or  I  would  not  give  sixpence 
for  his  peace  of  mind  these  next  six  months." 

"  It  is  all  right  if  you  tell  us,"  said  little  Keren-happuch, 
who  was  her  father's  playmate.  Jemima  ruled  him,  Kezia 
teased  him — the  privilege  of  beauty — but  it  was  generally  lit- 
tle Keren-happuch  who  fetched  his  slippers  and  sat  with  her 
cheek  against  the  back  of  his  hand  as  he  smoked  and  read 
in  his  great  wicker  chair  by  the  north  window. 

There  was  the  sound  of  quick  nervous  footsteps  with  an 
odd  halt  in  their  fall  on  the  gravel  walk  outside.  The  three 
girls  ran  to  the  door  in  a  tumultuous  greeting,  even  Jemima 
losing  her  staidness  for  the  occasion.  Ralph  could  hear 
only  the  confused  babble  of  tongues  and  the  expressions, 

"  Now  you  hear,  father "     "  Now  you  understand " 

"  Listen  to  me,  father "  as  one  after  another  took  up 

the  tale. 

Ralph  retold  the  story  that  night  from  the  very  begin- 


264  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

ning  to  the  professor,  who  listened  silently,  punctuating  his 
thoughts  with  the  puffs  of  his  pipe. 

When  he  had  finished,  there  was  an  unwonted  moisture 
in  the  eyes  of  Professor  Thriepneuk — perhaps  the  memory 
of  a  time  when  he  too  had  gone  a-cuurting. 

He  stretched  the  hand  which  was  not  occupied  with  his 
long  pipe  to  Ralph,  who  grasped  it  strongly. 

"  You  have  acted  altogether  as  I  could  have  desired  my 
own  son  to  act ;  I  only  wish  that  I  had  one  like  you.  Let 
the  Marrow  Kirk  alone,  and  come  and  be  my  assistant  till 
you  see  your  way  a  little  into  the  writer's  trade.  Pens  and 
ink  are  cheap,  and  you  can  take  my  classes  in  the  summer, 
and  give  me  quietness  to  write  my  book  on  '  The  Abuses 
of  Ut  with  the  Subjunctive.'  " 

"  But  I  must  find  lodgings "  interrupted  Ralph. 

"  You  must  find  nothing — just  bide  here.  It  is  the 
house  of  your  nearest  kin,  and  the  fittest  place  for  you. 
Your  meat's  neither  here  nor  there,  and  my  lasses " 

"  They  are  the  best  and  kindest  in  the  world,"  said 
Ralph. 

The  professor  glanced  at  him  with  a  sharp,  qiiizzical  look 
under  his  eyebrows.  He  seemed  as  if  he  were  about  to  say 
something,  and  then  thought  better  of  it  and  did  not.  Per- 
haps he  also  had  had  his  illusions. 

As  Ralph  was  going  to  his  room  that  night  Kezia  met 
him  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  She  came  like  a  flash  from 
nowhere  in  particular. 

"  Good-night,  Ralph,"  she  said  ;  "  give  your  Winsome  a 
kiss  from  me — the  new  kind — like  this  !  " 

Then  Kezia  vanished,  and  Ralph  was  left  wondering,  with 
his  candle  in  his  hand. 


A  TRIANGULAR  CONVERSATION.  265 

CHAPTER  XL. 

A    TRIANGULAR    CONVERSATIOlSr. 

It  was  the  day  of  the  fast  before  the  Communion  in  the 
Dullarg.  The  services  of  the  day  were  over,  and  Allan 
Welsh,  the  minister  of  the  Marrow  kirk,  was  resting  in  liis 
study  from  his  labours.  Manse  Bell  came  up  and  knocked, 
inclining  her  ear  as  she  did  so  to  catch  the  minister's  low- 
toned  reply. 

"  Mistress  Winifred  Charteris  frae  the  Craig  Ronald  to 
see  ye,  sir." 

Allan  "Welsh  commanded  his  emotion  without  difficulty 
— what  of  it  he  felt — as  indeed  he  had  done  for  many  years. 

He  rose,  however,  with  his  hand  on  the  table  as  though 
for  support,  as  Winsome  came  in.  He  received  her  in  si- 
lence, bending  over  her  hand  with  a  certain  graye  rever- 
ence. 

Winsome  sat  down.  She  was  a  little  paler  but  even  love- 
lier in  the  minister's  eyes  than  when  he  had  seen  her  before. 
The  faint  violet  shadows  under  her  lower  lids  were  deeper, 
and  gave  a  new  depth  to  her  sapphire  eyes  whose  irises  were 
so  large  that  the  changeful  purple  lights  in  them  came  and 
went  like  summer  lightnings. 

It  was  Winsome  who  first  spoke,  looking  at  him  with  a 
strange  pity  and  a  stirring  of  her  soul  that  she  could  not  ac- 
count for.  She  had  come  unwillingly  on  her  errand,  dis- 
liking him  as  the  cause  of  her  lover's  absence — one  of  the 
last  things  a  woman  learns  to  forgive.  But,  as  she  looked 
on  Allan  Welsh,  so  bowed  and  broken,  his  eyes  fallen  in, 
looking  wistfully  out  of  the  pain  of  his  life,  her  heart  went 
out  to  him,  even  as  she  thought  that  of  a  truth  he  was  Ralph 
Peden's  enemy. 

"  My  grandfather,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  low,  equa- 


266  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

ble,  and  serious,  "  sent  me  with  a  packet  to  you  that  he  in- 
structed me  only  to  give  into  your  own  hands." 

Winsome  went  over  to  the  minister  and  gave  him  a 
sealed  parcel.  Allan  Welsh  took  it  in  his  hand  and  seemed 
to  weigh  it. 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said,  commanding  his  voice  with  some 
difficulty.  "And  I  ask  you  to  thank  Walter  Skirving  for 
his  remembrance  of  me.  It  is  many  years  since  we  were 
driven  apart,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  the  kindness  of  the 
long  ago !  " 

He  opened  the  parcel.  It  was  sealed  with  Walter  Skir- 
ving's  great  seal  ring  which  he  wore  on  his  watch-chain, 
lying  on  the  table  before  him  as  he  kept  his  never-ending 
vigil.     There  was  a  miniature  and  a  parcel  of  letters  within. 

It  was  the  face  of  a  fair  girl,  with  the  same  dark-blue 
eyes  of  the  girl  now  before  him,  and  the  same  golden  hair 
— ^the  face  of  an  earlier  but  not  a  fairer  Winifred.  Allan 
Welsh  set  his  teeth,  and  caught  at  the  table  to  stay  his 
dizzying  head.  The  letters  were  his  own.  It  was  Walter 
Skirving*s  stern  message  to  him.  From  the  very  tomb  his 
own  better  self  rose  in  judgment  against  him.  He  saw 
what  he  might  have  been — the  sorrow  he  had  wrought,  and 
the  path  of  ultimate  atonement. 

He  had  tried  to  part  two  young  lovers  who  had  chosen 
the  straight  and  honest  way.  It  was  true  that  his  duty  to 
the  kirk  which  had  been  his  life,  and  which  he  himself  was 
under  condemnation  according  to  his  own  standard,  had 
seemed  to  him  to  conflict  with  the  path  he  had  marked  out 
for  Ralph. 

But  his  own  letters,  breaking  from  their  brittle  confin- 
ing band,  poured  in  a  cataract  of  folded  paper  and  close- 
knit  writing  which  looked  like  his  own  self  of  long  ago, 
upon  the  table  before  him.  He  was  condemned  out  of  his 
own  mouth. 


A  TRIANGULAR  CONVERSATION.  2G7 

Winsome  sat  with  her  face  turned  to  the  window,  from 
which  she  could  see  the  heathery  back  of  a  hill  which 
heaved  its  bulk  between  the  manse  and  the  lowlands  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Dee.  There  was  a  dreamy  look  in  her  e3'es, 
and  her  heart  was  far  away  in  that  Edinburgh  town  from 
which  she  had  that  day  received  a  message  to  shake  her 
soul  with  love  and  pity. 

The  minister  of  the  Dullarg  looked  up. 

"Do  you  love  him?"  he  asked,  abruptly  and  harshly. 

Winsome  looked  indignant  and  surprised.  Her  love, 
laid  away  in  the  depths  of  her  heart,  was  sacred,  and  not 
thus  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  every  rude  questioner.  But  as 
her  eye  rested  on  Allan  Welsh,  the  unmistakable  accent  of 
sincerity  took  hold  on  her — that  accent  which  may  ask  all 
things  and  not  be  blamed. 

"  I  do  love  him,"  she  said — "  with  all  my  heart." 

That  answer  does  not  vary  while  God  is  in  his  heaven. 

The  eye  of  Allan  Welsh  fell  on  the  miniature.  Tlie 
woman  he  had  loved  so  long  ago  took  part  in  the  conver- 
sation. 

"  That  is  what  you  said  twenty  years  ago  !  "  the  unseen 
Winsome  said  from  the  table. 

"And  he  loves  you?"  he  asked,  without  looking  up. 

"  If  I  did  not  believe  it,  I  could  not  live ! " 

Allan  Welsh  glanced  with  a  keen  and  sudden  scrutiny 
at  Winsome  Charteris ;  but  the  clearness  of  her  eye  and  the 
gladness  and  faith  at  the  bottom  of  it  satisfied  him  as  to  his 
thought. 

This  Ealph  Peden  was  a  better  man  than  he.  A  sad 
yearning  face  looked  up  at  him  from  the  table,  and  a  voice 
thrilled  in  his  ears  across  the  years —  i 

"  So  did  not  you  ! " 

"You  know,"  said  Allan  Welsh,  again  untrue  to  him- 
self, "  that  it  is  not  for  Ealph  Peden's  good  that  he  should 


2G8  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

love  you."  The  formal  part  of  him  was  dictating  the 
words. 

"  I  know  you  think  so,  and  I  am  here  to  ask  you  why," 
said  Winsome  fearlessly. 

"  And  if  I  persuade  you,  will  you  forbid  him  ?  "  said 
Allan  Welsh,  convinced  of  his  own  futility. 

Wlnsome's  heart  caught  the  accent  of  insincerity.  It 
had  gone  far  beyond  forbidding  love  or  allowing  it  with 
Ealph  Peden  and  herself. 

"  I  shall  try ! "  she  said,  with  her  own  sweet  serenity. 
But  across  the  years  a  voice  was  pleading  their  case.  As 
the  black  and  faded  ink  of  the  letters  flashed  his  own 
sentences  across  the  minister's  eye,  the  soul  God  had  put 
within  him  rose  in  revolt  against  his  own  petty  and  useless 
preaching. 

"  So  did  not  you,''''  persisted  the  voice  in  his  ear.  "Me 
you  counselled  to  risk  all,  and  you  took  me  out  into  the 
darkness,  lighting  my  way  with  love.  Did  ever  I  complain 
— father  lost,  mother  lost,  home  lost,  God  well  nigh  lost — all 
for  you ;  yet  did  I  even  regret  when  you  saw  me  die  ?  " 

"  Think  of  the  Marrow  kirk,"  said  the  minister.  "  Her 
hard  service  does  not  permit  a  probationer,  before  whom 
lies  the  task  of  doctrine  and  reproof,  to  have  father  or 
mother,  wife  or  sweetheart." 

"  And  what  did  you,"  said  the  voice,  "  in  that  past 
day,  care  for  the  Marrow  kirk,  when  the  light  shone  upon 
me,  and  you  thought  the  world,  and  the  Marrow  kirk  with 
it,  well  lost  for  love's  sake  and  mine  ?  " 

Allan  Welsh  bowed  his  head  yet  lower. 

W^insome  Charteris  went  over  to  him.  His  tears  were 
falling  fast  on  the  dulled  and  yellowing  paper. 

Winsome  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulder. 

" Is  that  my  mother's  picture?"  she  said,  hardly  know- 
ing what  she  said. 


THE  MEETING  OP  THE  SYNOD.  2G9 

Allan  Welsh  put  his  hand  g-reedily  about  it.  He  could 
not  let  it  go. 

"Will  you  kiss  me  for  your  mother's  sake?"  he  said. 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  since  her  babyhood, 
Winsome  Charteris,  whose  name  was  Welsh,  kissed  her 
father. 

There  were  tears  on  her  mother's  miniature,  but  through 
them  the  face  of  the  dead  Winifred  seemed  to  smile  well 
pleased. 

"  For  my  mother's  sake ! "  said  Winsome  again,  and 
kissed  him  of  her  own  accord  on  the  brow. 

Thus  Walter  Skirvinff's  message  was  delivered. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE    MEETING    OF   THE    SYNOD. 

Within  the  vestry  of  the  Marrow  kirk  in  Bell's  Wynd 
the  synod  met,  and  was  constituted  with  prayer.  Sederunt^ 
the  Reverend  Gilbert  Peden,  moderator,  minister  of  the 
true  kirk  of  God  in  Scotland,  commonly  called  the  Marrow 
Kirk,  in  which  place  the  synod  for  the  time  being  was  as- 
sembled ;  the  Reverend  Allan  Welsh,  minister  of  the  Mar- 
row kirk  in  Dullarg,  clerk  of  the  synod ;  John  Bairdieson, 
synod's  officer.  The  minutes  of  the  last  meeting  having 
been  read  and  approved  of,  the  court  proceeded  to  take  up 
business.  Inter  alia  the  trials  of  Master  Ralph  Peden,  some 
time  student  of  arts  and  humanity  in  the  College  of  Edin- 
burgh, were  a  remit  for  this  day  and  date.  Accordingly,  the 
synod  called  upon  the  Reverend  Allan  Welsh,  its  clerk,  to 
make  report  upon  the  diligence,  humility,  and  obedience, 
as  well  as  upon  the  walk  and  conversation  of  the  said  Ralph 
18 


270  TUB  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

Peden,  student  in  divinity,  now  on  trials  for  license  to 
preach  the  gospel. 

Allan  Welsh  read  all  this  gravely  and  calmly,  as  if  the 
art  of  expressing  ecclesiastical  meaning  lay  in  clothing  it 
in  as  many  overcoats  as  a  city  watchman  wears  in  winter. 

The  moderator  sat  still,  with  a  grim  earnestness  in  his 
face.  He  was  the  very  embodiment  of  the  kirk  of  the 
Marrow,  and  though  there  were  but  two  ministers  with  no 
elders  there  that  day  to  share  the  responsibility,  what  did 
that  matter? 

He,  Gilbert  Peden,  successor  of  all  the  (faithful)  Re- 
formers, was  there  to  do  inflexible  and  impartial  justice. 

John  Bairdieson  came  in  and  sat  down.  The  moderator 
observed  his  presence,  and  in  his  official  capacity  took  notice 
of  it. 

"  This  sederunt  of  the  synod  is  private,"  he  said. 
"  Officer,  remove  the  strangers." 

In  his  official  capacity  the  officer  of  the  court  promptly 
removed  John  Bairdieson,  who  went  most  unwillingly. 

The  matter  of  the  examination  of  probationers  comes 
up  immediately  after  the  reading  of  the  minutes  in  well- 
regulated  church  courts,  being  most  important  and  vital. 

"  The  clerk  will  now  call  for  the  report  upon  the  life 
and  conduct  of  the  student  under  trials,"  said  the  moder- 
ator. 

The  clerk  called  upon  the  Eeverend  Allan  Welsh  to 
present  his  report.  Then  he  sat  down  gravely,  but  imme- 
diately rose  again  to  give  his  report.  All  the  while  the  mod- 
erator sat  impassive  as  a  statue. 

The  minister  of  Dullarg  began  in  a  low  and  constrained 
voice.  He  had  observed,  he  said,  with  great  pleasure  the 
diligence  and  ability  of  Master  Ralph  Peden,  and  considered 
the  same  in  terms  of  the  remit  to  him  from  the  synod.  He 
was  much  pleased  with  the  clearness  of  the  candidate  upon 


THE  MEETING  OP  THE  SYNOD.  271 

the  great  questions  of  theology  and  church  government. 
He  had  examined  him  daily  in  his  work,  and  had  confidence 
in  bearing  testimony  to  the  able  and  spiritual  tone  of  all  his 
exercises,  both  oral  and  written. 

Soon  after  he  began,  a  surprised  look  stole  over  the  face 
of  the  moderator.  As  Allan  Welsh  went  on  from  sentence  to 
sentence,  the  thin  nostrils  of  the  representative  of  the  Re- 
formers dilated.  A  strange  and  intense  scorn  took  posses- 
sion of  him.  He  sat  back  and  looked  fixedly  at  the  slight 
figure  of  the  minister  of  Dullarg  bending  under  the  weight 
of  his  message  and  the  frailty  of  his  body.  His  time  was 
coming. 

Allan  Welsh  sat  down,  and  laid  his  written  report  on 
the  table  of  the  synod. 

"  And  is  that  all  that  you  have  to  say  ?  "  queried  the 
moderator,  rising. 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Allan  Welsh. 

"  Then,"  said  the  moderator,  "  I  charge  it  against  you 
that  you  have  either  said  too  much  or  too  little  :  too  much 
for  me  to  listen  to  as  the  father  of  this  young  man,  if  it  be 
true  that  you  extruded  him,  being  my  son  and  a  student  of 
the  Marrow  kirk  committed  to  your  care,  at  midnight  from 
your  house,  for  no  stated  cause ;  and  too  little,  far  too 
little  to  satisfy  me  as  moderator  of  this  synod,  when  a  re- 
port not  only  upon  diligence  and  scholarship,  but  also 
upon  a  walk  and  conversation  becoming  the  gospel,  is  de- 
manded." 

"  I  have  duly  given  my  report  according  to  the  terms  of 
the  remit,"  said  Allan  Welsh,  simply  and  quietly. 

"  Then,"  said  the  moderator,  "  I  solemnly  call  you  to 
account  as  the  moderator  of  this  synod  of  the  only  true  and 
protesting  Kirk  of  Scotland,  for  the  gravest  dereliction  of 
your  duty.  I  summon  you  to  declare  the  cause  why  Ralph 
Peden,  student  in  divinity,  left  your  house  at  midnight, 


272  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

and,  returning  to  mine,  was  for  that  cause  denied  bed  and 
board  at  his  father's  house." 

"  I  deny  your  right,  moderator,  to  ask  that  question  as 
an  officer  of  this  synod.  If,  at  the  close,  you  meet  me  as 
man  to  man,  and,  as  a  father,  ask  me  the  reasons  of  my  con- 
duct, some  particulars  of  which  I  do  not  now  seek  to  defend, 
I  shall  be  prepared  to  satisfy  you." 

"  We  are  not  here  convened,"  said  the  moderator,  "  to 
bandy  compliments,  but  to  do  justice " 

"  And  to  love  mercy,"  interjected  John  Bairdieson 
through  the  keyhole. 

"  Officer,"  said  the  moderator,  "  remove  that  rude  inter- 
rupter." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir,"  responded  the  synod  officer  promptly, 
and  removed  the  offender  as  much  as  six  inches. 

"  You  have  no  more  to  say  ? "  queried  the  moderator, 
bending  his  brows  in  threatening  fashion. 

"  I  have  no  more  to  say,"  returned  the  clerk  as  firmly. 
They  were  both  combative  men ;  and  the  old  spirit  of  that 
momentous  conflict,  in  which  they  had  fought  so  gallantly 
together,  moved  them  to  as  great  obstinacy  now  that  they 
were  divided. 

"  Then,"  said  the  moderator,  "  there's  nothing  for't  but 
another  split,  and  the  Lord  do  so,  and  more  also,  to  him 
whose  sin  brings  it  about !  " 

"  Amen  ! "  said  Allan  Welsh. 

"  You  will  remember,"  said  the  moderator,  addressing 
the  minister  of  Dullarg  directly,  "  that  you  hold  your  office 
under  my  pleasure.  There  is  that  against  you  in  the  past 
which  would  justify  me,  as  moderator  of  the  kirk  of  the 
Marrow,  in  deposing  you  summarily  from  the  office  of  the 
ministry.  This  I  have  in  writing  under  your  own  hand 
and  confession." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  clerk,  rising  with  the  gleaming  light 


THE  MEETING  OP  THE  SYNOD.  273 

of  war  in  his  eye,  "  have  to  set  it  against  these  things  that 
you  are  guilty  of  art  and  part  in  the  concealment  of  that 
which,  had  you  spoken  twenty  years  ago,  would  have  removed 
from  the  kirk  of  the  Marrow  an  unfaithful  minister,  and 
given  some  one  worthier  than  I  to  report  on  the  fitness  of 
your  son  for  the  ministry.  It  was  you,  Gilbert  Peden,  who 
made  this  remit  to  me,  knowing  what  you  know.  I  shall 
accept  the  deposition  which  you  threaten  at  your  hands,  but 
remember  that  co-ordinately  the  power  of  this  assembly  lies 
with  me — you  as  moderator,  having  only  a  casting,  not  a  de- 
liberative, vote  ;  and  know  you,  Gilbert  Peden,  minister  and 
moderator,  that  I,  Allan  Welsh,  will  depose  you  also  from 
the  office  of  the  ministry,  and  my  deposition  will  stand  as 
good  as  yours." 

"  The  Lord  preserve  us !  In  five  meenetes  there'll 
be  nae  Marrow  Kirk"  said  John  Bairdieson,  and  flung 
himself  against  the  door ;  but  the  moderator  had  taken 
the  precaution  of  locking  it  and  placing  the  key  on  his 
desk. 

The  two  ministers  rose  simultaneously.  Gilbert  Peden 
stood  at  the  head  and  Allan  Welsh  at  the  foot  of  the  little 
table.  They  were  so  near  that  they  could  have  shaken 
hands  across  it.     But  they  had  other  work  to  do. 

"  Allan  Welsh,"  said  the  moderator,  stretching  out  his 
hand,  "  minister  of  the  gospel  in  the  parish  of  Dullarg  to 
the  faithful  contending  remnant,  I  call  upon  you  to  show 
cause  why  you  should  not  be  deposed  for  the  sins  of  con- 
tumacy and  contempt,  for  sins  of  person  and  life,  confessed 
and  communicate  under  your  hand." 

"  Gilbert  Peden,"  returned  the  minister  of  the  Dullarg 
and  clerk  to  the  Marrow  Synod,  looking  like  a  cock-boat 
athwart  the  hawse  of  a  leviathan  of  the  deep,  "  I  call  upon 
you  to  show  cause  why  you  should  not  be  deposed  for  un- 
faithfulness in  the  discharge  of  your  duty,  in  so  far  as  you 


274  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

have  concealed  known  sin,  and  by  complicity  and  compli- 
ance have  been  sharer  in  the  wrong." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Gilbert  Peden  knew  well 
that  what  his  opponent  said  was  good  Marrow  doctrine,  for 
Allan  Welsh  had  confessed  to  him  his  willingness  to  accept 
deposition  twenty  years  ago. 

Then,  as  with  one  voice,  the  two  men  pronounced  against 
each  other  the  solemn  sentence  of  deposition  and  depriva- 
tion : 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  and  by  virtue  of  the  law  of  the 
Marrow  Kirk,  I  solemnly  depose  you  from  the  office  of  the 
ministry." 

John  Bairdieson  burst  in  the  door,  leaving  the  lock 
hanging  awry  with  the  despairing  force  of  his  charge. 

"  Be  merciful,  oh,  be  merciful !  "  he  cried  ;  "  let  not  the 
Philistines  rejoice,  nor  the  daughter  of  the  uncircumcised 
triumph.  Let  be!  let  be!  Say  that  ye  dinna  mean  it!  Oh, 
say  ye  dinna  mean  it !     Tak'  it  back — tak'  it  a'  back  !  " 

There  was  the  silence  of  death  between  the  two  men,  who 
stood  lowering  at  each  other, 

John  Bairdieson  turned  and  ran  down  the  stairs.  He 
met  Ealph  and  Professor  Thriepneuk  coming  up. 

"  Gang  awa' !  gang  awa' ! "  he  cried.  "  There's  nae 
leecense  for  ye  noo.  There's  nae  mair  ony  Marrow  Kirk  ! 
There's  nae  mair  heaven  and  earth !  The  Kirk  o'  the  Mar- 
row, precious  and  witnessing,  is  nae  mair !  " 

And  the  tears  burst  from  the  old  sailor  as  he  ran  down 
the  street,  not  knowing  whither  he  went. 

Half-way  down  the  street  a  seller  of  sea-coal,  great  and 
grimy,  barred  his  way.  He  challenged  the  runner  to  fight. 
The  spirit  of  the  Lord  came  upon  John  Bairdieson,  and,  re- 
joicing that  a  foe  withstood  him,  he  dealt  a  bullet  so  sore 
and  miglity  that  the  seller  of  coal,  whose  voice  could  rise 
like  the  grunting  of  a  sea  beast  to  the  highest  windows  of 


PURGING   AND  RESTORATION.  275 

the  New  Exchange  Buildings,  dropped  as  an  ox  drops  when 
it  is  felled.     And  John  Bairdieson  ran  on,  crying  out : 
"  There's  nae  kirk  o'  God  in  puir  Scotland  ony  mair !  " 


CHAPTEK  XLII. 

PUEGING    AND    KESTOKATIOK. 

It  was  the  Lord's  day  in  Edinburgh  town.  The  silence 
in  the  early  morning  was  something  which  could  be  felt — 
not  a  footstep,  not  a  rolling  wheel.  Window-blinds  were 
mostly  down — on  the  windows  provided  with  them.  Even 
in  Bell's  Wynd  there  was  not  the  noise  of  the  week.  Only  a 
tinker  family  squabbled  over  the  remains  of  the  deep  drink- 
ing of  the  night  before.  But  then,  what  could  Bell's  Wynd 
expect — to  harbour  such  ? 

It  was  yet  early  dawn  when  John  Bairdieson,  kirk  officer 
to  the  little  company  of  the  faithful  to  assemble  there  later 
in  the  day,  went  up  the  steps  and  opened  the  great  door  with 
his  key.  He  went  all  round  the  church  with  his  hat  on.  It 
was  a  Popish  idea  to  take  off  the  head  covering  within  stone 
walls,  yet  John  Bairdieson  was  that  morning  possessed  with 
the  fullest  reverence  for  the  house  of  God  and  the  highest 
sense  of  his  responsibility  as  the  keeper  of  it. 

He  was  wont  to  sing  : 

"  Rather  in 
My  God's  house  would  I  keep  a  door 
Than  dwell  in  tents  of  sin." 

That  was  the  retort  which  he  flung  across  at  Tammas 
Laidlay,  the  beadle  of  the  Established  Kirk  opposite,  with 
all  that  scorn  in  the  application  which  was  due  from  one  in 
John  Bairdieson's  position  to  one  in  that  of  Tammas  Laidlay. 


2Y6  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

But  this  morning  John  had  no  spirit  for  the  encounter. 
He  hurried  in  and  sat  down  by  himself  in  the  minister's 
vestry.  Here  he  sat  for  a  long  season  in  deep  and  solemn 
thought. 

"  I'll  do  it !  "  he  said  at  last. 

It  was  near  the  time  when  the  minister  usually  came  to 
enter  into  his  vestry,  there  to  prepare  himself  by  meditation 
and  prayer  for  the  services  of  the  sanctuary.  John  Bairdie- 
son  posted  himself  on  the  top  step  of  the  stairs  which  led 
from  the  street,  to  wait  for  him.  At  last,  after  a  good 
many  passers-by,  all  single  and  all  in  black,  walking  very 
fast,  had  hurried  by,  John's  neck  craning  after  every  one, 
the  minister  appeared,  walking  solemnly  down  the  street 
with  his  head  in  the  air.  His  neckcloth  was  crumi^led  and 
soiled — a  fact  which  was  not  lost  on  John. 

The  minister  came  up  the  steps  and  made  as  though  he 
would  pass  John  by  without  speaking  to  him  ;  but  that 
guardian  of  the  sanctuary  held  out  his  arms  as  though  he 
were  wearing  sheep. 

"  Na,  na,  minister,  ye  come  na  into  this  Kirk  this  day  as 
minister  till  ye  be  lawfully  restored.  There  are  nae  minis- 
ters o'  the  kirk  o'  the  Marrow  the  noo  ;  we're  a  body  with- 
out a  heid.  I  thocht  that  the  Kirk  was  at  an  end,  but  the 
Lord  has  revealed  to  me  that  the  Marrow  Kirk  canna  end 
while  the  world  lasts.  In  the  nicht  season  he  tolled  me  what 
to  do." 

The  minister  stood  transfixed.  If  his  faithful  serving- 
man  of  so  many  years  had  turned  against  him,  surely  the 
world  was  at  an  end.     But  it  was  not  so. 

John  Bairdieson  went  on,  standing  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  the  hairs  of  his  head  erect  with  the  excitement  of 
unflinching  justice. 

"  I  see  it  clear.  Ye  are  no  minister  o'  this  kirk.  Mr. 
Welsh  is  no  minister  o'  the  Dullarg.    I,  John  Bairdieson,  am 


PURGING   AND  RESTORATION.  277 

the  only  officer  of  the  seenod  left ;  therefore  I  stand  atween 
the  people  and  you  this  day,  till  ye  hae  gaue  intil  the  seenod 
hall,  that  we  ca'  on  ordinary  days  the  vestry,  and  there,  tak- 
kiu'  till  ye  the  elders  that  remain,  ye  be  solemnly  ordainit 
ower  again  and  set  apairt  for  the  office  o'  the  meenistry." 

"  But  I  am  your  minister,  and  need  nothing  of  the  sort ! " 
said  Gilbert  Peden.     "  I  command  you  to  let  me  pass  !  " 

"  Command  me  nae  commands  !  John  Bairdieson  kens 
better  nor  that.  Ye  are  naither  minister  nor  ruler  ;  ye  are 
but  an  elder,  like  mysel' — equal  among  your  equals  ;  an'  ye 
maun  sit  amang  us  this  day  and  help  to  vote  for  a  teachin' 
elder,  first  among  his  equals,  to  be  set  solemnly  apairt." 

The  minister,  logical  to  the  verge  of  hardness,  could  not 
gainsay  the  admirable  and  even-handed  justice  of  John 
Bairdieson's  position.  More  than  that,  he  knew  that  every 
man  in  the  congregation  of  the  Marrow  Kirk  of  Bell's  Wynd 
would  inevitably  take  the  same  view. 

Without  another  word  he  went  into  the  session-house, 
where  in  due  time  he  sat  down  and  opened  the  Bible. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long,  when  there  joined  him  Gavin 
MacFadzean,  the  cobbler,  from  the  foot  of  Leith  Walk,  and 
Alexander  Taylour,  carriage-builder,  elders  in  the  kirk  of 
the  Marrow  ;  these,  forewarned  by  John  Bairdieson,  took 
their  places  in  silence.  To  them  entered  Allan  Welsh. 
Then,  last  of  all,  John  Bairdieson  came  in  and  took  his  own 
place.  The  five  elders  of  the  Marrow  kirk  Avere  met  for 
the  first  time  on  an  equal  platform,  John  Bairdieson 
opened  with  prayer.  Then  he  stated  the  case.  The  two 
ex-ministers  sat  calm  and  silent,  as  though  listening  to  a 
chapter  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles.  It  was  a  strange  scene 
of  equality,  only  possible  and  actual  in  Scotland. 

"  But  mind  ye,"  said  John  Bairdieson,  "  this  was  dune 
hastily,  and  not  of  set  purpose — for  ministers  are  but 
men — even  ministers  of  the  Marrow  kirk.     Therefore  sliall 


278  I^IiE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

we,  as  elders  of  the  kirk,  iu  full  standing,  set  apairt  two  of 
our  number  as  teaching  elders,  for  the  fulfilling  of  ordi- 
nances and  the  edification  of  them  that  believe.  Have  you 
anything  to  say '?  If  not,  then  let  ns  proceed  to  set  apairt 
and  ordain  Gilbert  Peden  and  Allan  Welsh," 

But  before  any  progress  could  be  made,  Allan  Welsh 
rose.     John  Bairdieson  had  been  afraid  of  this. 

"  The  less  that's  said,  the  better,"  he  said  hastily,  "  an' 
it's  gettin'  near  kirk-time.  We  maun  get  it  a'  by  or 
then." 

"  This  only  I  have  to  say,"  said  Allan  Welsh,  "  I  recog- 
nize the  justice  of  my  deposition.  I  have  been  a  sinful 
and  erring  man,  and  I  am  not  worthy  to  teach  in  the  pulpit 
any  more.  Also,  my  life  is  done.  I  shall  soon  lay  it  down 
and  depart  to  the  Father  whose  word  I,  hopeless  and  cast- 
away, have  yet  tried  faithfully  to  preach." 

Then  uprose  Gilbert  Peden.  His  voice  was  husky  with 
emotion.  "  Hasty  and  ill-advised,  and  of  such  a  character 
as  to  bring  dishonour  on  the  only  true  Kirk  in  Scotland, 
has  such  an  action  been.  I  confess  myself  a  hasty  man,  a 
man  of  wrath,  and  that  wrath  unto  sin.  I  have  sinned  the 
sin  of  anger  and  presumption  against  a  brother.  Long  ere 
now  I  would  have  taken  it  back,  but  it  is  the  law  of  God 
that  deeds  once  done  cannot  be  undone ;  though  we  seek 
repentance  carefully  with  tears,  we  cannot  put  the  past 
away." 

Thus,  with  the  consecration  and  the  humility  of  con- 
fession Gilbert  Peden  purged  himself  from  the  sin  of  hasty 
anger. 

"  Like  Uzzah  at  the  threshing-floor  of  Nachon,"  he 
■went  on,  "  I  have  sinned  the  sin  of  the  Israelite  who  set 
his  hand  to  the  ox-cart  to  stay  the  ark  of  God.  It  is  of  the 
Lord's  mercy  that  I  am  not  consumed,  like  the  men  of 
Beth-shemesh." 


PURGING  AND  RESTORATION.  279 

So  Gilbert  Peden  was  restored,  but  Allan  "Welsh  would 
not  accept  any  restoration. 

"  I  am  not  a  man  accepted  of  God,"  he  said.  And  even 
Gilbert  Peden  said  no  word. 

"  Noo,"  said  John  Bairdieson,  "  afore  this  meetin'  scales 
[is  dismissed],  there  is  juist  yae  word  that  I  hae  to  say. 
There's  nane  o'  us  haes  wives,  but  an'  except  Alexander 
Taylour,  carriage-maker.  Noo,  the  proceedings  this  morn- 
in'  are  never  to  be  yince  named  in  the  congregation.  If, 
then,  there  be  ony  soond  of  this  in  the  time  to  come,  mind 
you  Alexander  Taylour,  that  it's  you  that'll  hae  to  bear  the 
weight  o't ! " 

This  was  felt  to  be  fair,  even  by  Alexander  Taylour, 
carriage-maker. 

The  meeting  now  broke  up,  and  John  Bairdieson  went 
to  reprove  Margate  Truepenny  for  knocking  with  her 
crutch  on  the  door  of  the  house  of  God  on  the  Sabbath 
morning. 

"  D'ye  think,"  he  said,  "  that  the  fowk  knockit  wi'  their 
staves  on  the  door  o'  the  temjole  in  Jerusalem  ?  " 

"  Aiblins,"  retorted  Margate,  "  they  had  feller  [quicker] 
doorkeepers  in  thae  days  nor  you,  John  Bairdieson." 

The  morning  service  was  past.  Gilbert  Peden  had 
preached  from  the  text,  '  Greater  is  he  that  ruleth  his 
spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a  city." 

"  Cor  minister  is  yin  that  looks  deep  in  til  the  work- 
ings o'  his  ain  heart,"  said  Margate,  as  she  hirpled  home- 
ward. 

But  when  the  church  was  empty  and  all  gone  home,  in 
the  little  vestry  two  men  sat  together,  and  the  door  was  shut. 
Between  them  they  held  a  miniature,  the  picture  of  a  girl 
with  a  flush  of  rose  on  her  cheek  and  a  laughing  light  in 
her  eyes.  There  was  sile.nce,  but  for  a  quick  catch  in  the 
stronger  man's  breathing,  which  sounded  like  a  sob.     Gil- 


280  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

bert  Peden,  who  had  only  lost  and  never  won,  and  Allan 
Welsh,  who  had  both  won  and  lost,  were  forever  at  one. 
There  was  silence  between  them,  as  they  looked  with  eyes 
of  deathless  love  at  the  picture  which  spoke  to  them  of  long 
ago. 

Walter  Skirving's  message,  which  Winsome  had  brought 
to  the  manse  of  Dullarg,  had  united  the  hearts  estranged 
for  twenty  years.  Winsome  had  builded  better  than  she 
knew. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

THREADS   DIIAWN   TOGETHER. 

WiFSOME  took  her  grandmother  out  one  afternoon  into 
the  rich  mellow  August  light,  when  the  lower  corn-fields 
were  glimmering  with  misty  green  shot  underneath  with 
faintest  blonde,  and  the  sandy  knowes  were  fast  yellowing. 
The  blithe  old  lady  was  getting  back  some  of  her  strength, 
and  it  seemed  possible  that  once  again  she  might  be  able  to 
go  round  the  house  without  even  the  assistance  of  an  arm. 

"  And  what  is  this  I  hear,"  said  Mistress  Skirving,  "  that 
the  daft  young  laird  frae  the  Castle  has  rin'  aff  wi'  that  cot- 
tar's lassie,  Jess  Kissock,  an'  marriet  her  at  Gretna  Green. 
It's  juist  no  possible." 

"  But,  grandma,  it  is  quite  true,  for  Jock  Gordon 
brought  the  news.  He  saw  them  postin'  back  from  Gretna 
wi'  four  horses  !  " 

"  An'  what  says  his  mither,  the  Lady  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  They  say  that  she's  delighted,"  said  Winsome. 

"  That's  a  lee,  at  ony  rate  ! "  said  the  mistress  of  Craig 
Ronald,  without  a  moment's  hesitation.  She  knew  the 
Lady  Elizabeth. 


THREADS  DRAWN  TOGETHER.  281 

"  They  say,"  said  Winsome,  "  that  Jess  can  make  them 
do  all  that  she  wants  at  the  Castle." 

"  Gin  she  gars  them  pit  doon  new  carpets,  she'll  do 
wonders,"  said  her  grandmother,  acidly.  She  came  of  a 
good  family,  and  did  not  like  mesalliances,  though  she  had 
been  said  to  have  made  one  herself. 

But  there  was  no  misdoubting  the  fact  that  Jess  had 
done  her  sick  nursing  well,  and  had  possessed  herself  in 
honourable  and  lawful  wedlock  of  the  Honourable  Agnew 
Greatorix — and  that  too,  apparently  with  the  consent  of  the 
Lady  Elizabeth. 

"  What  took  them  to  Gretna,  then  ? "  said  Winsome's 
grandmother. 

"  Well,  grandmammy,  you  see,  the  Castle  folk  are  Cath- 
olic, and  would  not  have  a  minister  ;  an'  Jess,  though  a  queer 
Christian,  as  well  as  maybe  to  show  her  power  and  be 
romantic,  would  have  no  priest  or  minister  either,  but  must 
go  to  Gretna.  So  they're  back  again,  and  Jock  Gordon 
says  that  she'll  comb  his  hair.  He  has  to  be  in  by  seven 
o'clock  now,"  said  Winsome,  smiling. 

"  Wha's  ben  wi'  yer  grandfaither?"  after  a  pause,  Mis- 
tress Skirving  asked  irrelevantly. 

"  Only  Mr.  Welsh  from  the  manse,"  said  Winsome.  "  I 
suppose  he  came  to  see  grandfather  about  the  packet  I  took 
to  the  manse  a  month  ago.  Grandmother,  why  does  Mr. 
Welsh  come  so  seldom  to  Craig  Eonald  ?  "  she  asked. 

But  her  grandmother  was  shaking  in  a  strange  way, 

"  I  have  not  heard  any  noise,"  she  said.  "  You  had 
better  go  in  and  see." 

Winsome  stole  to  the  door  and  looked  within.  She  saw 
the  minister  with  his  head  on  the  swathed  knees  of  her 
grandfather.  The  old  man  had  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
grey  hair  of  the  kneeling  minister.  Awed  and  solemnised, 
Winsome  drew  back. 


282  THE   LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

She  told  her  grandmother  what  she  had  seen,  and  the 
old  lady  said  nothing  for  the  space  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  she  said  : 

"Help  me  ben." 

And  Winsome,  taking  her  arm,  guided  her  into  the 
hushed  room  where  her  husband  sat,  still  holding  his  hand 
on  the  head  of  Allan  Welsh. 

Something  in  the  pose  of  the  kneeling  man  struck  her 
— a  certain  helpless  inclination  forward. 

Winsome  ran,  and,  taking  Allan  Welsh  by  the  shoulders, 
lifted  him  up  in  her  strong  young  arms. 

He  was  dead.     He  had  passed  in  the  act  of  forgiveness. 

Walter  Skirving,  who  had  sat  rapt  and  silent  through  it 
all  as  though  hardly  of  this  world,  now  said  clearly  and 
sharply : 

" '  For  if  ye  forgive  men  their  trespasses,  so  also  shall  your 
heavenly  Father  forgive  you.' " 

Walter  Skirving  did  not  long  survive  the  man,  in  hatred 
of  whom  he  hnd  lived,  and  in  unity  with  whom  he  had  died. 
It  seemed  as  though  he  had  only  been  held  to  the  earth  by 
the  necessity  that  the  sun  of  his  life  should  not  go  down 
upon  his  wrath.  This  done,  like  a  boat  whose  moorings  are 
loosed,  very  gladly  he  went  out  that  same  night  upon  the 
ebb  tide.  The  two  funerals  were  held  upon  the  same  day. 
Minister  and  elder  were  buried  side  by  side  one  glorious 
August  day,  which  was  a  marvel  to  many.  So  the  Dullarg 
kirk  was  vacant,  and  there  was  only  Manse  Bell  to  take  care 
of  the  property.  Jonas  Shillinglaw  came  from  Cairn  Ed- 
ward and  communicated  the  contents  of  both  Walter  Skir- 
ving's  will  and  of  that  of  Allan  Welsh  to  those  whom  it 
concerned.  Jonas  had  made  several  journeys  of  late  both 
to  the  manse  as  well  as  to  the  steading  of  Craig  Eonald. 
Walter  Skirving  left  Craig  Ronald  and  all  of  which  he  died 


THREADS  DRAWN  TOGETHER.  283 

possessed  to  Winsome  Charteris,  subject  to  the  approval  of 
her  grandmother  as  to  whom  she  might  marry.  There  was 
a  recent  codicil.  "  I  desire  to  record  my  great  satisfaction 
that  Winifred  Charteris  or  Welsh  is  likely  to  marry  the  son 
of  my  old  friend  Gilbert  Peden,  minister  of  the  Marrow 
kirk  in  Edinburgh  ;  and  hearing  that  the  young  man  con- 
templates the  career  of  letters,  1  desire  that,  if  it  be  possible, 
in  the  event  of  their  marriage,  they  come  to  abide  at  Craig 
Eonald,  at  least  till  a  better  way  be  opened  for  them.  I 
commend  my  wife,  ever  loving  and  true,  to  them  both ; 
and  in  the  good  hope  of  a  glorious  resurrection  I  commit 
myself  to  Him  who  made  me." 

Allan  Welsh  left  all  his  goods  and  his  property  to  Ralph 
Peden,  "  being  as  mine  own  son,  because  he  taught  me  to 
know  true  love,  and  fearlessness  and  faith  unfeigned.  Also 
because  one  dear  to  him  brought  me  my  hope  of  forgiveness." 

There  was  indeed  need  of  Ralph  at  Craig  Eonald.  Mis- 
tress Skirving  cried  out  incessantly  for  him.  Meg  begged 
Winsome  to  let  her  look  every  day  at  the  little  miniature 
Ealph  had  sent  her  from  Edinburgh.  The  Cuif  held  forth 
upon  the  great  event  every  night  when  he  came  over  to  hold 
the  tails  of  Meg's  cows.  Jock  Forrest  still  went  out,  saying 
nothing,  whenever  the  Cuif  came  in,  which  the  Cuif  took  to 
be  a  good  sign.  Only  Ebie  Fairrish,  struck  to  the  heart  by 
the  inconstancy  of  Jess,  removed  at  the  November  term 
back  again  to  the  "  laigh  end "  of  the  parish,  and  there 
plunged  madly  into  flirtations  with  several  of  his  old  sweet- 
hearts. He  is  reported  to  have  found  in  numbers  the  ano- 
dyne for  the  unfaithfulness  of  one.  As  for  what  Winsome 
thought  and  longed  for,  it  is  better  that  we  should  not 
begin  to  tell,  not  having  another  volume  to  spare. 

Only  she  went  to  the  hill-top  by  the  side  of  Loch  Ken 
and  looked  northward  every  eventide ;  and  her  heart 
yearned  within  her. 


28i  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

winsome's  last  tryst. 

It  was  the  morn  before  a  wedding,  and  there  had  been  a 
constant  stir  all  night  all  about  the  farmsteading,  for  a 
brand-new  world  was  in  the  making.  Such  a  marrying  had 
not  been  for  years.  The  farmers'  sons  for  miles  around 
were  coming  on  their  heavy  plough-horses,  with  here  and 
there  one  of  better  breed.  Long  ago  in  the  earliest  morn- 
ing some  one  had  rung  the  bell  of  the  little  kirk  of  the 
Dullarg.  It  came  upon  the  still  air  a  fairy  tinkle,  and  many 
a  cottar  and  many  a  shepherd  turned  over  with  a  comfort- 
able feeling  :  "  This  is  the  Sabbath  morn ;  I  need  not  rise  so 
soon  to-day."  But  all  their  wives  remembered,  and  ttirned 
them  out  with  wifely  elbow. 

It  was  Winsome  Charteris's  wedding  day.  The  flower 
of  all  the  countryside  was  to  wed  the  young  Edinburgh  lad 
who  had  turned  out  so  great  a  poet.  It  was  the  opinion  of 
the  district  that  her  "  intended  "  had  unsettled  the  thrones 
of  all  the  great  writers  of  the  past  by  his  volume  of  poems, 
which  no  one  in  the  parish  had  read  ;  but  the  fame  of  whose 
success  had  been  wafted  down  upon  the  eastern  breezes 
which  bore  the  snell  bite  of  the  metropolis  upon  their  front. 

"  Tra-la-la-AA  !  "  chanted  the  cocks  of  Craig  Ronald. 

"  Tra-la-la — la-la  !  "  airily  sang  the  solitary  bird  which 
lived  up  among  the  pine  woods,  where,  in  the  cot  of  Mistress 
Kissock,  Ralph  Peden  occupied  the  little  bedroom  which 
Meg  had  got  ready  for  him  with  such  care  and  honour. 

"  Tra-la-la-laa  !  "  was  echoed  in  the  airiest  diminuendo 
from  the  far-away  leader  of  the  harem  at  the  Nether  Crae. 
His  challenge  crossed  the  wide  gulf  of  air  above  Loch  Gran- 
noch,  from  which  in  the  earliest  morning  the  mists  were 
rising. 


WINSOME'S  LAST  TRYST.  285 

Ealpli  Peden  heard  all  three  birds.  He  had  a  delight- 
fully comfortable  bedroom,  and  the  flowers  on  the  little 
white-covered  table  have  come  from  the  front  square  of 
Mistress  Kissock's  garden.  There  was  a  passion-flower  on 
his  table,  which  somehow  reminded  him  of  a  girl  who  had 
put  poppies  in  hair  of  the  raven's  wing  hue.  It  had  not 
grown  in  the  garden  of  the  cot. 

Yet  Kalpli  was  out  in  the  earliest  dawn,  listening  to  the 
sighing  of  the  trees  and  taking  in  the  odour  of  the  perfume 
from  the  pines  on  the  slope. 

Ealph  did  not  write  any  poem  this  morning,  though  the 
Muses  were  abroad  in  the  stillness  of  the  dawn.  His  eyes 
were  on  a  little  window  once  more  overclambered  by  the 
June  roses.  His  poem  was  down  there,  and  it  was  coming 
to  him. 

How  eagerly  he  looked,  his  eyes  like  telescopes  !  Then 
his  heart  thrilled.  In  the  cool  flood  of  slanting  morning 
sunshine  which  had  just  overflowed  the  eastern  gable  of  the 
house,  some  one  swiftly  crossed  the  court-yard  of  the  farm. 
In  a  moment  the  sun,  winking  on  a  pair  of  tin  pails,  told  him 
that  Meg  Kissock  was  going  to  the  well.  From  the  barn 
end  some  one  stepped  out  by  her  side  and  walked  to  the 
well.  Then,  as  they  returned,  it  was  not  the  woman  who 
was  carrying  the  winking  pails.  At  the  barn  end  they  drew 
together  in  the  shadow  for  a  long  minute,  and  then  again 
Ralph  saw  Meg's  back  as  she  walked  sedately  to  the  kitchen 
door,  the  cans  flashing  rhythmically  as  she  swung  them.  So 
high  was  he  above  them  that  he  could  even  notice  the 
mellow  dimple  of  diffused  light  from  the  water  in  the 
bright  pail  centring  and  scattering  the  morning  sunliglit  as 
it  swayed. 

Presently  the  one  half  of  the  blue  kitchen  door  became 
black.  It  had  been  opened.  Ralph's  heart  gave  a  great 
bound.  Then  the  black  became  white  and  glorified,  for 
19 


2SG  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

framed  within  it  appeared  a  slender  shape  like  a  shaft  of 
light.  Ealph's  eyes  did  not  leave  the  figure  as  it  stepped 
out  and  came  down  by  the  garden  edge. 

Along  the  top  of  the  closely-cut  hawthorn  a  dot  of  light 
moved.  It  was  but  a  speck,  like  the  paler  centre  of  the 
heather  bells.  Ealph  ran  swiftly  down  the  great  dyke  in  a 
manner  more  natural  to  a  young  man  than  dignified  in  a 
poet.  In  a  minute  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  glen  in  which 
Andra  Kissock  had  guddled  the  trouts.  That  flash  of  lav- 
ender must  pass  this  way.     It  passed  and  stayed. 

So  in  the  cool  translucence  of  morning  light  the  lovers 
met  in  this  quiet  glade,  the  great  heather  moors  above  them 
once  more  royally  purple,  the  burnie  beneath  singing  a  gen- 
tle song,  the  birds  vying  with  each  other  in  complicated 
trills  of  pretended  artlessness. 

It  was  purely  by  chance  that  Winsome  Charteris  passed 
this  way.  And  a  kind  Providence,  supplemented  on  Ealph's 
side  by  some  activity  and  observation,  brought  him  also  to 
the  glen  of  the  elders  that  June  morning.  Yet  there  are 
those  who  say  that  there  is  nothing  in  coincidence. 

When  Winsome,  moving  thoughtfully  onward,  gently 
waving  a  slip  of  willow  in  her  hand,  came  in  sight  of  Ealph, 
she  stood  and  waited.  Ealph  went  towards  her,  and  so  on 
their  marriage  morn  these  two  lovers  met. 

It  was  like  that  morning  on  which  by  the  lochside  they 
parted,  yet  it  was  not  like  it. 

With  that  prescience  which  is  a  sixth  sense  to  women, 
Winsome  had  slipped  on  the  old  sprigged  gown  which  had 
done  duty  at  the  blanket- washing  so  long  ago,  and  her  hair, 
unbound  in  the  sun,  shone  golden  as  it  flowed  from  beneath 
the  lilac  sunbonnet.  As  for  Ealph,  it  does  not  matter  how 
he  was  dressed.  In  love,  dress  does  not  matter  a  brass 
button  after  the  first  corner  is  turned — at  least  not  to  the 
woman. 


WINSOME'S  LAST  TRYST.  287 

"  Sweet,"  said  Ealpli,  "  you  are  awake  ?  " 

Winsome  looked  up  with  eyes  so  glorious  and  triumphant 
that  a  blind  man  could  scarce  have  doubted  the  fact. 

"And  you  love  me?"  he  continued,  reading  her  eyes. 
With  her  old  ripple  of  laughter  she  lightened  the  strain  of 
the  occasion. 

"  You  are  a  silly  boy,"  she  said  ;  "  but  you'll  learn.  I 
have  come  out  to  gather  flowers,"  she  added,  ingenuous- 
ly. "  I  shall  expect  you  to  help.  No — no — and  nothing 
else." 

Had  Ralph  been  in  a  fit  condition  to  observe  Nature  this 
morning,  it  might  have  occurred  to  him  that  when  girls 
come  out  to  gather  flowers  for  somewhat  extensive  decora- 
tion, they  bring  with  them  at  least  a  basket  and  generally 
also  their  fourth  best  pair  of  scissors.  Winsome  had  neither. 
But  he  was  not  in  a  mood  for  careful  inductions. 

The  morning  lights  sprayed  upon  them  as  they  went 
hither  and  thither  gathering  flowers — dew-drenched  hya- 
cinths, elastic  wire-strung  bluebells  the  colour  of  the  sky 
when  the  dry  east  wind  blows,  the  first  great  red  bushes  of 
the  ling.  Now  it  is  a  known  fact  that,  in  order  properly  to 
gather  flowers,  the  collectors  must  divide  and  so  quarter  the 
ground. 

"  But  this  was  not  a  scientific  expedition,"  said  Ralph, 
when  the  folly  of  their  mode  of  proceeding  was  pointed  out 
to  him. 

It  was  manifestly  impossible  that  they  could  gather  flow- 
ers walking  with  the  palm  of  Ralph's  left  hand  laid  on  tlie 
inside  of  Winsome's  left  arm.  The  thing  cannot  be  done. 
At  least  so  Ralph  admitted  afterwards. 

"  No,"  said  Ralph,  "  but  you  made  me  promise  to  keep 
my  shoulders  back,  and  I  am  trying  to  to  do  it  now." 

And  his  manner  of  assisting  Winsome  to  gather  her 
flowers  for  her  wedding  bouquet  was,  when  you  come  to 


288  THE  LILAC   SUNBONNET. 

think  of  it,  admirably  adapted  for  keeping  the  shoulders 
back. 

"  Meg  waked  me  this  morning,"  said  "Winsome  sud- 
denly. 

"  She  did,  did  she  ? "  remarked  Ralph  ineffectively, 
with  a  quick  envy  of  Meg.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  that 
he  had  no  need  to  envy  Meg.  And  Winsome  blushed  for 
no  reason  at  all. 

Then  she  became  suddenly  practical,  as  the  protective 
instinct  teaches  women  to  be  on  these  occasions. 

"  You  have  not  seen  your  study,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  said  Ralph,  "  but  I  have  heard  enough  about  it. 
It  has  occupied  sixteen  pages  in  the  last  three  letters. 

Ralph  considered  the  study  a  good  thing,  but  he  had  his 
views  upon  the  composition  of  love-letters. 

"  You  are  an  ungrateful  boy,"  said  Winsome  sternly, 
*'  and  I  shall  see  that  you  get  no  more  letters — not  any 
more ! " 

"  I  shall  never  want  any,  little  woman,"  cried  Ralph 
joyously,  "  for  I  shall  have  you  !  " 

It  was  a  blessing  that  at  this  moment  they  were  passing 
under  the  dense  shade  of  the  great  oaks  at  the  foot  of  the 
OBchard.  Winsome  had  thought  for  five  minutes  that  it 
would  happen  about  there.     It  happened. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  they  came  out  into  the  cool 
ocean  of  leaf  shadow  which  lay  blue  upon  the  grass  and 
daisies.  Winsome  now  carried  the  sunbonnet  over  her  arm, 
and  in  the  morning  sunshine  her  uncovered  head  was  so 
bright  that  Ralph  could  not  gaze  at  it  long.  Besides,  he 
wanted  to  look  at  the  eyes  that  looked  at  him,  and  one 
cannot  do  everything  at  once. 

"  This  is  your  study,"  she  said,  standing  back  to  let 
him  look  in.  It  was  a  long,  low  room  with  an  outside  stair 
above  the  farthermost  barn,  and  Winsome  had  fitted  it  up 


WINSOME'S  LAST  TRYST.  289 

wondrously  for  Ralph.  It  opened  off  tlie  orchard,  and  the 
late  blossoms  scattered  into  it  when  the  winds  blew  from 
the  south. 

They  stood  together  on  the  topmost  step.  There  was  a 
desk  and  one  chair,  and  a  low  window-seat  in  each  of  the 
deep  windows. 

"  You  will  never  be  disturbed  here,"  said  Winsome. 

"  But  I  want  to  be  disturbed,"  said  Ralph,  who  was 
young  and  did  not  know  any  better. 

"  Now  go  in,"  said  Winsome,  giving  him  a  little  push 
in  the  way  that,  without  any  offence,  a  proximate  wife  may. 
"  Go  in  and  study  a  little  this  morning,  and  see  how  you 
like  it." 

Ralph  considered  this  as  fair  provocation,  and  turned, 
with  bonds  and  imprisonment  in  his  mind.  But  Winsome 
had  vanished. 

But  from  beneath  came  a  clear  voice  out  of  the  unseen  : 

"  If  you  don't  like  it,  you  can  come  round  and  tell  me. 
It  will  not  be  too  late  till  the  afternoon.  Any  time  before 
three ! " 

A  mere  man  is  at  a  terrible  disadvantage  in  word  play  of 
this  kind.  On  this  occasion  Ralph  could  think  of  nothing 
better  than — 

"  Winsome  Charteris,  I  shall  pay  you  back  for  this  !  " 

Then  he  heard  what  might  either  have  been  a  bell  ring- 
ing for  the  fairies'  breakfast,  or  a  ripple  of  the  merriest 
earthly  laughter  very  far  away. 

Then  he  sat  down  to  study. 

It  took  him  quite  an  hour  to  arrive  at  a  conclusion  ;  but 
when  reached  it  was  a  momentous  one.  It  was,  that  it  is  a 
mistake  to  be  married  in  summer,  for  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  is  such  a  long  time  in  coming. 


290  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

THE   LAST   OF   THE    LILAC    SUNBON'lSrET. 

Craig  EoisrALD  lies  bright  in  a  dreaming  day  in  mid- 
September.  The  reapers  are  once  more  in  the  fields.  Far 
away  there  is  a  crying  of  voices.  The  corn-fields  by  the 
bridge  are  white  with  a  bloomy  and  mellow  whiteness. 
Some  part  of  the  oats  is  already  down.  Close  into  the 
standing  crop  there  is  a  series  of  rhythmic  flashes,  the 
scythes  swinging  like  a  long  wave  that  curls  over  here  and 
there.  Behind  the  line  of  flashing  steel  the  harvesters 
swarm  like  ants  running  hither  and  thither  crosswise,  ap- 
parently in  aimless  fashion. 

Up  through  the  orchard  comes  a  girl,  tall  and  graceful, 
but  with  a  touch  of  something  nobler  and  stiller  that  does 
not  come  to  girlhood.  It  is  the  seal  of  the  diviner  Eden 
grace  which  only  comes  with  the  after-Eden  pain. 

Winsome  Peden  carries  more  than  ever  of  the  old  grace 
and  beauty ;  and  the  eyes  of  her  husband,  who  has  been 
finishing  the  proofs  of  his  next  volume  and  at  intervals 
looking  over  the  busy  fields  to  the  levels  of  Loch  Grannoch, 
tell  her  so  as  she  comes. 

But  suddenly  from  opposite  sides  of  the  orchard  this  girl 
with  the  gracious  something  in  her  eyes  is  "borne  down  by 
simultaneous  assault.  Shrieking  with  delight,  a  boy  and  a 
girl,  dressed  in  complete  defensive  armour  of  daisies,  and 
wielding  desperate  arms  of  lath  manufactured  by  Andra 
Kissock,  their  slave,  rush  fiercely  upon  her.  They  pull 
down  their  quarry  after  a  brisk  chase,  who  sinks  helj)lessly 
upon  the  grass  under  a  merciless  fire  of  caresses. 

It  is  a  critical  moment.  A  brutal  and  licentious  soldiery 
are  not  responsible  at  such  moments.  They  may  carry  sack 
and  rapine  to  unheard-of  extremities. 


THE  LAST   OF  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET.  291 

"  You  young  barbarians,  be  careful  of  your  only  mother 
— unless  you  have  a  stock  of  them  ! "  calls  a  voice  from  the 
top  of  the  stairs  which  lead  to  the  study, 

"  Father's  come  out — hurrah !  Come  on,  Allan  ! "  shouts 
Field-Marshal  Winifred  the  younger  who  is  leader  and 
commander,  to  her  army  whose  tottery  and  chubby  youth 
does  not  suggest  the  desperation  of  a  forlorn  hope.  So  the 
study  is  carried  at  the  point  of  the  lath,  and  the  banner  of 
the  victors — a  cross  of  a  sort  unknown  to  heraldry,  marked 
on  a  white  ground  with  a  blue  pencil — is  planted  on  the 
sacred  desk  itself. 

Winsome  the  matron  comes  more  slowly  up  the  stairs. 

"Can  common,  uninspired  people  come  in?"  she  says, 
pausing  at  the  top. 

She  looks  about  with  a  motherly  eye,  and  pulls  down  the 
blind  of  the  window  into  which  the  sun  has  been  streaming 
all  the  morning.  It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  such  a  wife 
that  her  husband,  especially  the  rare  literary  variety,  may  be 
treated  as  no  more  than  the  eldest  but  most  helpless  of  the 
babes.  It  is  also  true  that  Ralph  had  pulled  up  the  blind  in 
order  that  he  might  the  better  be  able  to  see  his  wife  mov- 
ing among  the  reapers.  For  Winsome  was  more  than  ever 
a  woman  of  affairs. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway,  looking  in  spite  of  the  au- 
tumn sun  and  the  walk  up  from  the  corn-field,  deliciously 
cool.  She  fanned  herself  with  a  broad  rhubarb-leaf — an 
impromptu  fan  plucked  by  the  way.  She  sat  down  on  the 
ledge  of  the  upper  step  of  Ealph's  study,  as  she  often  did 
when  she  worked  or  rested.  Ralph  was  again  within,  re- 
clining on  a  window-seat,  while  the  pack  of  reckless  ban- 
ditti swarmed  over  him. 

"Have  the  rhymes  been  behaving  themselves  this  morn- 
ing?" Winsome  said,  looking  across  at  Ralph  as  only  a 
wife  of  some  years'  standing  can  look  at  her  husband — with 


292  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

love  deepened  into  understanding,  and  tempered  with  a 
spice  of  amusement  and  a  wide  and  generous  tolerance — the 
look  of  a  loving  woman  to  whom  her  husband  and  her  hus- 
band's ways  are  better  than  a  stage  play.  Such  a  look  is  a 
certificate  of  happy  home  and  an  ideal  life,  far  more  than 
all  heroics.  The  love  of  the  after-years  depends  chiefly  on 
the  capacity  of  a  wife  to  be  amused  by  her  husband's  pe- 
culiarities— and  not  to  let  him  see  it. 

"  There  are  three  blanks,"  said  Ealph,  a  little  wistfully. 
"  I  have  written  a  good  deal,  but  I  dare  not  read  it  over, 
lest  it  should  be  nothing  worth." 

This  was  a  well-marked  stage  in  Ralph's  composition, 
and  it  was  well  that  his  wife  had  come. 

"  I  fear  you  have  been  dreaming,  instead  of  working," 
she  said,  looking  at  him  with  a  kind  of  pitying  admiration. 
Ealph,  too,  had  grown  handsomer,  so  his  wife  thought,  since 
she  had  him  to  look  after.  How,  indeed,  could  it  be  other- 
wise? 

She  rose  and  went  towards  him. 

"  Eim  down,  now,  children,  and  play  on  the  grass,"  she 
said.  "  Eun,  chicks — oli  with  you — shoo  !  "  and  she  flirted 
her  apron  after  them  as  she  did  when  she  scattered  the 
chickens  from  the  dairy  door.  The  pinafored  people  fled 
shrieking  across  the  grass,  tumbling  over  each  other  in  riot- 
ous heaps. 

Then  Winsome  went  over  and  kissed  her  husband.  He 
was  looking  so  handsome  that  he  deserved  it.  And  she  did 
not  do  it  too  often.  She  was  glad  that  she  had  made  him 
wear  a  beard.  She  put  one  of  her  hands  behind  his  head 
and  the  other  beneath  his  chin,  tilting  his  profile  with  the 
air  of  a  connoisseur.  This  can  only  be  done  in  one  posi- 
tion. 

"  Well,  does  it  suit  your  ladyship  ?  "  said  Ealph. 

She  gave  him  a  little  box  on  the  ear. 


THE  LAST   OP  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET.  293 

"  I  knew,"  he  said,  "  that  you  wanted  to  come  and  sit  on 
my  knee ! " 

"  I  never  did,"  replied  Winsome  with  animation,  making 
a  statement  almost  certainly  inaccurate  upon  the  face  of  it. 

"  That's  why  you  sent  away  the  children,"  he  went  on, 
pinching  her  ear. 

"  Of  all  things  in  this  world,"  said  Winsome  indignantly, 
"  commend  me  to  a  man  for  conceit ! " 

"  And  to  winsome  wives  for  wily  ways  !  "  said  her  hus- 
band instantly.  To  do  him  justice,  he  did  not  often  do  this 
sort  of  thing. 

"Keep  the  alliteration  for  the  poems,"  retorted  Win- 
some.    "  Truth  will  do  for  me." 

After  a  little  while  she  said,  without  apparent  connec- 
tion: 

"  It  is  very  hot." 

"  What  are  they  doing  in  the  hay-field  ?  "  asked  Ealph. 

"  Jock  Forrest  was  leading  and  they  were  cutting  down 
the  croft  very  steadily.  I  think  it  looks  like  sixty  bushels 
to  the  acre,"  she  continued  practically ;  "  so  you  shall  have 
a  carpet  for  the  study  this  year,  if  all  goes  well." 

"  That  will  be  famous  !  "  cried  Ralph,  like  a  schoolboy, 
waving  his  hand.     It  paused  among  Winsome's  hair. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  tumble  it  all  down,"  she  said  ;  "  I 
am  too  old  for  that  kind  of  thing  now  !  " 

The  number  of  times  good  women  perjure  themselves  is 
almost  unbelievable. 

But  the  recording  angel  has,  it  is  said,  a  deaf  side,  oth- 
erwise he  would  need  an  ink-eraser.  Ralph  knew  very  well 
what  she  really  meant,  and  continued  to  throw  the  fine-spun 
glossy  waves  over  her  head,  as  a  miser  may  toss  his  gold  for 
the  pleasure  of  the  cool,  crisp  touch. 

"  Then,"  continued  Winsome,  without  moving  (for, 
though  so  unhappy  and  uncomfortable,  she  sat  still — some 


294  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

women  are  born  with  a  genius  for  martyrdom), "  then  I  had 
a  long  talk  with  Meg." 

"  And  the  babe  ?  "  queried  Ealph,  letting  her  hair  run 
through  his  fingers. 

^^And  the  babe,"  said  Winsome  ;  "  she  had  laid  it  to  sleep 
under  a  stook,  and  when  we  went  to  see,  it  looked  so  sweet 
under  the  narrow  arch  of  the  corn  !  Then  it  looked  up  with 
big  wondering  eyes.  I  believe  he  thought  the  inside  of  the 
stook  was  as  high  as  a  temple." 

"  It  is  not  I  that  am  the  poet ! "  said  Kalph,  transferring 
his  attention  for  a  moment  from  her  hair. 

"  Meg  says  Jock  Forrest  is  perfectly  good  to  her,  and 
that  she  would  not  change  her  man  for  all  Greatorix  Castle." 

"  Does  Jock  make  a  good  grieve  ?  "  asked  Ealph. 

"  The  very  best ;  he  is  a  great  comfort  to  me,"  reiDlied  his 
wife.  "  I  get  far  more  time  to  work  at  the  children's  things 
— and  also  to  look  after  my  Ursa  Major  !  " 

"  What  of  Jess  ?  "  asked  Ralph  ;  "  did  Meg  say  ?  " 

"  Jess  has  taken  the  Lady  Elizabeth  to  call  on  My  Lord 
at  Bowhill !  What  do  you  think  of  that?  And  she  leads  Ag- 
new  Greatorix  about  like  a  lamb,  or  rather  like  a  sheep.  He 
gets  just  one  glass  of  sherry  at  dinner,"  said  Winsome,  who 
loved  a  spice  of  gossip — as  who  does  not  ? 

"  There  is  a  letter  from  my  father  this  morning,"  said 
Ralph,  half  turning  to  pick  it  off  his  desk  ;  "  he  is  well,  but 
he  is  in  distress,  he  says,  because  he  got  his  pocket  picked 
of  his  handkerchief  while  standing  gazing  in  at  a  shop  win- 
dow wherein  books  were  displayed  for  sale,  but  John  Bair- 
dieson  has  sewed  another  in  at  the  time  of  writing.  They 
had  a  repeating  tune  the  other  day,  and  the  two  new  licen- 
tiates are  godly  lads,  and  turning  out  a  credit  to  the  kirk  of 
the  Marrow." 

"And  that  is  more  than  ever  you  would  have  done, 
Ralph,"  said  his  wife  candidly. 


THE  LAST  OP  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET.  295 

"  Kezia  is  to  be  married  in  October,  and  there  is  a  young 
man  coming  to  see  little  Keren-liappuch,  but  Jemima  thinks 
that  the  minds  of  both  of  her  younger  sisters  are  too  much 
set  on  the  frivolous  things  of  this  earth.  The  professor  has 
received  a  new  kind  of  snuff  from  Holland  which  Kezia  says 
is  indistinguishable  in  its  effects  from  pepper — one  of  his  old 
students  brought  it  to  him — and  that's  all  the  news,"  said 
Kalph,  closing  up  the  letter  and  laying  it  on  the  table. 

"  Has  Saunders  Moudiewort  cast  his  easy  affections  on 
any  one  this  year  yet  ?  "  Ealph  asked,  returning  to  the  con- 
sideration of  Winsome's  hair. 

Saunders  was  harvesting  at  present  at  Craig  Ronald. 
The  mistress  of  the  farm  laughed. 

"  I  think  not,"  she  said ;  "  Saunders  says  that  his  mother 
is  the  most  '  siccar  '  housekeeper  that  he  kens  of,  and  that 
after  a  while  ye  get  to  mind  her  tongue  nae  mair  nor  the 
mill  fanners." 

"  That's  just  the  way  with  me  when  you  scold  me,"  said 
Ralph. 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  must  go  to  the  summer  seat  and  put 
you  out  of  danger,"  replied  Winsome.  "  Since  you  are  so 
imposed  upon,  I  shall  see  if  the  grannymother  has  done 
with  her  second  volume.  She  never  gets  dangerous,  except 
when  she  is  kept  waiting  for  the  third." 

But  before  they  had  time  to  move,  the  rollicking  storm- 
cloud  of  younglings  again  came  tumultuously  up  the  stairs 
— Winifred  far  in  front,  Allan  toddling  doggedly  in  the 
rear. 

"  See  what  granny  has  put  on  my  head  !  "  cried  Mistress 
Winifred  the  youngest,  whose  normal  manner  of  entering  a 
room  suggested  a  revolution. 

"  <9o,"  said  Allan,  pointing  with  his  chubby  finger, "  yook, 
yook  !  mother's  sitting  on  favver's  knee — rock-a-dy,favver^ 
rock-a-hy  !  " 


296  THE  LILAC  SUNBONNET. 

But  Ealpli  had  no  eyes  for  anything  but  the  old  sunbon- 
net  in  which  the  piquant  flower  face  of  Mistress  Five-year- 
old  Winifred  was  all  but  lost.  He  stooped  and  kissed  it, 
and  the  face  under  it.  It  was  frayed  and  faded,  and  it  had 
lost  both  strings. 

Then  he  looked  up  and  kissed  the  wife  who  was  still 
his  sweetheart,  for  the  love  the  lilac  sunbonnet  had  brought 
to  them  so  many  years  ago  was  still  fresh  with  the  dew  of 
their  youth. 


THE   END. 


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IN  THE  FIRE  OF  THE  FORGE.  A  Romance 
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Attic   Philosopher  in   Paris,  and  "  Picciola."     No  more  sympathetic  illustrator  than 
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it  with  a  peculiar  value. 


P 


A 


ICCIOLA.     By  X.  B.  Saintine.     With  130  Illustra- 
tions by  J.  F.    GuELDRY.     8vo.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50. 

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day Evening  Gazette. 

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N  ATTIC  PHILOSOPHER  IN  PARIS ;  or,  A 

Peep  at  the  World  from  a  Garret.  Being  the  Journal  of  a 
Happy  Man.  By  Emile  Souvestre.  "With  numerous  Illustra- 
tions.    8vo.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50. 

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some one." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

"It  is  a  classic.  It  has  found  an  appropriate  reliquary.  Faithfully  translated, 
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head  and  tail  pieces,  printed  in  graceful  type  on  handsome  paper,  and  bound  with  an 
art  worthy  of  Matthews,  in  half-cloth,  ornamented  on  the  cover,  it  is  an  exemplary  book, 
fit  to  be  '  a  treasure  for  aye."  " — New   York  Times. 

y^HE  STOP  Y  OF  COLETTE.     A  new  large- paper 
-*        edition.     With  36  Illustrations.     Svo.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50. 
"One  of  the  handsomest  of  the  books  of  fiction  for  the  holiday  season." — Philadel- 
phia Bulletin. 

"One  of  the  gems  of  the  season.  .  .  .  It  is  the  story  of  the  life  of  young  womanhood 
in  France,  dramatically  told,  with  the  light  and  shade  and  coloring  of  the  genuine 
artist,  and  is  utterly  free  from  that  which  mars  too  many  French  novels.  In  its  literary 
finish  it  is  well-nigh  perfect,  indicating  the  hand  of  the  master." — Boston  Traveller. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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NOVELS  BY  MAARTEN  MAARTENS. 

'J^HE  GREATER  GLORY.     A  Story  of  High  Life. 

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tion. To  our  mind  this  just  published  work  of  his  is  his  best.  .  .  .  He  is  a  master  ot 
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"  It  would  take  several  columns  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the  superb  way  in 
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/^OD'S  FOOL.     By  Maarten    Maartens.       izmo, 
vT"     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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phia Ledger. 

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to-day." — Boston  Daily  .Advertiser. 

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...  It  is,  in  short,  a  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature  should  fail  to  read." 
— Boston  Times. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest  and  point." — J\lew  York  Observer. 


7 


'DOST  AVELINGH.      By  Maarten    Maartens. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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nature  or  more  human  n&ture."—  London  Standard. 

"A  novel  ofa  very  high  type.  At  once  strongly  realistic  and  powerfully  ideal- 
istic."— London  Literary  IVorld. 

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Telegraph. 

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"Our  English  writers  of  fiction  will  have  to  look  to  their  laurels." — Birmingham 
Daily  Pest. 

New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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n^HE   GREEN  CARNATION. 

J-  The    "Decadent"  of  English  society  has  never  been  so  cleverly  sketched, 

and  his  comments  upon  the  literature  and  art  of  the  day  will  be  found  as  amusing 
as  they  are  maliciously  witty.  We  have  had  no  recent  fictiun  so  thoroughly  "  up  to 
date.' 

/IBANDONING  AN   ADOPTED  FARM.       By 
-^-*     Kate  Sanborn,  author  of  "Adopting  an  Abandoned  Farm,"  etc. 

As  a  promoter  of  good  spirits,  a  contributor  to  the  gayety  of  nations,  Miss  Kate 
Sanborn  has  gained  a  most  enviable  place  among  the  writers  of  the  day. 

]\/[RS.    LIMBER'S   RAFFLE  J  or,  A  Church  Fair 
-^  '■'-  and  its  Victims.     By  William  Allen  Butler. 

This  brilliant  little  satire,  by  the  author  of  "  Nothing  to  Wear,"  appears  now  under 
his  name,  in  a  revised  and  enlarged  form. 

'J^HE  PURPLE  LIGHT  OF  LOVE.     By  Henry 

-*        Goelet  McVickar,  author  of  "  A  Precious  Trio,"  etc. 

"  A  novel  that  holds  the  attention  of  the  reader  with  its  clever  sketches  of  charac- 
ter."— Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

n^HE    TRANSLATION     OF    A    SAVAGE.      By 
-*       Gilbert  Parker. 

"  Unique  in  plot  and  subject,  and  holds  the  interest  from  the  first  page  to  the  last." 
— Detroit  Free  Press. 

^HE    FAIENCE    VIOLIN.       By    Champfleury. 

J.  "  The  style  is  happy  throughout,  the  humorous  parts  being  well  calculated 

to  bring  smiles,  while  we  can  hardly  restrain  our  tears  when  the  poor  enthusiast 
goes  to  excesses  that  have  a  touch  of  pathos." — Albany  Times-Union. 


T 


RUE  RICHES.     By  Francois  Coppee. 


A 


"  Delicate  as  an  apple    blossom,  with  its  limp  cover  of  pale  green  and  its 
stalk  of  golden-rod,  is  this  little  volume  containing  two  stories  by  Francois  Cop- 
p6.e    The  tales  are  charmingly  told,  and  their  setting  is  an  artistic  delight." — Philadel- 
phia Bulletin. 

TRUTHFUL     WOMAN    LN    SOUTHERN 
CALIFORNIA.     By  Kate  Sanborn. 

"  The  veracious  writer  considers  the  pros  of  the  '  glorious  climate '  of  California, 
and  then  she  gives  the  cons.  .  .  .  The  book  is  sprightly  and  amiably  entertaining.  The 
descriptions  have  the  true  Sanborn  touch  of  vitality  and  humor. " — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

/I  BORDER  LEANDER.  By  Howard  Seely, 
■^^-     author  of  "A  Nymph  of  the  West,"  etc. 

"  We  confess  to  a  great  liking  for  the  tale  Mr.  Seely  tells  .  .  .  There  are  pecks  of 
trouble  ere  the  devoted  lovers  secure  the  tying  of  their  love  knot,  and  Mr.  Seely  de- 
scribes them  all  with  a  Texan  flavor  that  is  refreshing." — jV.  Y.  Times. 

New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


pf^ 


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